Shadow of the Past
by CatJetRat
Summary: NOT A MARYSUE. Harry returns to Hogwarts to try and find resources to defeat Voldemort's Horcruxes, but a forgotten sister comes back to haunt him. HPDM slash! HGPP femslash. AU starting at end of HBP.
1. The Girl

**A/N: **Okay, um, wow. Here we are, at my third revision of 'Shadow of the Past'. If you've already read SOTP, the parts with the girl haven't changed, but the parts with Harry and the gang have changed greatly, so it is crucial that you read that at least. Anyway, this is also my last chapter Harry/Draco story in which I actually try and defeat Voldemort. There may be others, short chapter stories, cute one-shots. AUs, ect., but this is really my last long Harry Potter one. Probably. Well, enjoy! Adios!

-CatJetRat

**Chapter 1**

**The Girl**

**Pre HBP**

**Normal POV**

The girl lay in a ball on the hard stone floor. She was quivering weakly, and her clenched eyelids flickered open for a moment, and she took in her surroundings, before squeezing them shut again. She wasn't sure how long she had been there, wherever 'there' was, but she did know that she felt horrid. Her body was aching all over, and there was a distinct ringing in her ears. Echoing footsteps on the cold stone caused her to look up. She tried to say something, but her voice would not come to her.

"Shhhh, child," the man said in a surprisingly gentle tone. "You need to sleep now. You are not strong enough yet. Sleep," he said, and, waving his hand across her face, caused her to fall deeply asleep again.

The man considered placing her in a bed, but knew that being in contact with the floor was better for her. She could draw strength from stone better than the warm sheets of a bed, and the man knew that if she did not gain her strength, she would die, as she was meant to in the first place.

**DH**

**Normal POV**

"Draco Malfoy is dead."

These were the words which echoed through the early morning hours in the kitchen at the Burrow. Harry's fork clattered to his plate and he leapt up, snatching the paper from Hermione, who looked rather disgruntled.

"Sure, Harry, you're welcome to my paper," she muttered, looking over his shoulder at it.

YOUNG DEATH EATER FOUND DEAD

August 29-Earlier today, Draco Malfoy, 17, was found dead near the Ministry of

Magic. His body was mutilated, and he appears to have been trying to

reach the civilian access booth. Healers confirm that he did not die from

the many wounds on his body, but was hit with _Avada Kedavra_. No

word yet on who killed him, or why, but there is speculation that those

opposing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may be responsible, due to

the fact that the Dark Mark on his arm was sliced apart.

Draco Malfoy was a fugitive, who participated in the attack on Hogwarts

School last June, and aided in the murder of Albus Dumbledore. Hogwarts

School is reopening September 1st, with more stringent security measures,

and children of Death Eaters will not be allowed to go back. Minerva

McGonagall will be the new Headmistress.

Draco Malfoy was son to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy is currently

in Azkaban, and Mrs. Malfoy could not be reached for comment.

Harry swallowed hard, and read the article several times over before handing it back to Hermione. He sank back down into his chair and stared at his half-eaten breakfast, suddenly not very hungry. Ron wandered into the kitchen, yawning and scratching his stomach.

"What's up?" he said sleepily. Then he spotted the paper in Hermione's hands, and Harry's somber, rather sick look. All sleepiness instantly vanished from his eyes. "Who is it?" he asked warily. "Are they dead?"

Hermione nodded mutely and handed the paper over, slowly sitting down next to Harry. Ron read the article over once, and looked up, surprise in his features.

"Why the sad faces?" he asked, grinning. "This is great! We'll never have to deal with Malfoy again! I mean…."

"Ron, be quiet," Hermione said flatly, gesturing at Harry, whose mind was swimming with confusion.

Harry felt an odd pain building in his stomach, and a weakness seemed to overtake his limbs. "I'm just going to…" he mumbled, gesturing towards the stairs. He shuffled up them, and proceeded to the twin's room, where he was staying.

Bill and Fleur's wedding had taken place a couple weeks earlier. The house had been insanely hectic at the time, as the wedding was being held on the front lawn. Harry had enjoyed watching the many people rushing around the house, and Fleur looking, for the first time since the Second Task, when she'd been terrified for her sister Gabrielle, frazzled and worried. There were a mixture of beautiful, French-speaking people floating around the house, and red-haired, less-beautiful English-speaking people clomping up and down the stairs, consuming more than their fair share of the food Mrs. Weasley endlessly doled out.

Harry had stayed at the Dursley's until his seventeenth birthday, as Dumbledore had requested, and then went to stay at the Burrow for the last month of the summer vacation. When he got there, he found himself being bombarded with reasons to go back to Hogwarts, the main one being that perhaps Dumbledore's portrait could help him. In the end, just before the wedding, he finally cracked and agreed to go back to Hogwarts for at least a few months.

Being around Ginny had been difficult, at first. He would laugh at a joke she'd told, and a sudden longing would fill his heart to be with her again. They'd be playing Quidditch, and he'd look at her flushed face, a boyish grin adorning it, hair pulled back like Bill's, and he'd wish he'd never broken up with her.

And yet, as time passed, a strange thing began to happen. He began to forget about her. At the beginning of the summer, other than thinking of the Horcruxes, all he thought about was her. Halfway through, he found himself only thinking about her occasionally. By the time he got back to the Burrow, he was barely thinking about her at all, concentrating more on the Horcruxes, and where Snape had gone, what had happened to Malfoy, and Ron and Hermione.

Thoughts of her had increased, certainly, when he started seeing her on a daily basis, but as each day passed, he began to notice things about her that he hadn't before, when they'd been dating. Such as, she was often arrogant, about her abilities in Quidditch and her knowledge of Voldemort. Once he overheard her talking to Ron and Hermione about Voldemort, and she kept cutting them off, ignoring what they were saying, and behaving as though she knew more than they did, because a memory of Voldemort had once overtaken her body. Something she didn't even remember.

Harry had walked in and started arguing with her about it. When she began to lose the argument, she merely walked away in disgust. She could be kind, and nice, but she was also arrogant and a bit selfish. Harry could see now more than ever that she would eventually grow up, but they would have broken up anyway if he'd stayed with her. She was too childish, and that wasn't something he needed.

Harry had wondered often over the summer where Draco Malfoy had gone, and what had happened to him. When Harry had last seen him, Malfoy had been about to come over to the Light Side, but then had been prevented by the appearance of more Death Eaters. Harry rather doubted that Malfoy could hide this disloyalty from Voldemort, even if he had been practicing Occlumency. And now it came out that Malfoy was dead. Murdered.

Harry flopped back onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling, memories rushing through his head. Memories of a young boy, offering his hand in friendship, only to have it refused. Walking through the Forbidden Forest with him. Of dueling the same boy when they were twelve, and didn't know how to duel. Watching him be rude to a hippogriff, only to have his arm sliced open. Harry remembered flitting around on the Quidditch field, pursued by a blond, arrogant player who almost matched him in ability. Being threatened and hated and sneered at by him. And watching that same boy, only a few months before, sobbing into the sink as he became a man, terrified for his life and the life of his family, right before Harry nearly killed him himself. The boy who, when it came right down to it, couldn't bring himself to take the life of another.

Harry shut his eyes, scenes playing behind his lids faster and faster, until they became a blur of memories all resulting from one refused hand of friendship. Tears trickled out of the corners of Harry's eyes, and in his muddled state he recognized the irony of crying for the death of a despised rival. Malfoy had challenged him, and he had challenged Malfoy. He felt a small part of himself die as he realized he would never be so challenged again in a way that was not truly life-threatening.

Harry's hand curled over the locket he constantly kept around his neck, and he made a vow that he would find Draco Malfoy's murderer and see them soundly punished. No one deserved to die as he had.

No one.

**Pre HBP**

**Normal POV**

The girl woke up again, feeling a bit stronger. She looked around another time. From what she could see, she was in the middle of a circular room. The space was rather small. It was made up of molding stone, and had one window with no glass. It looked rather like a dungeon tower.

She tried to sit up, but failed miserably. She barely managed to weakly reach into the pocket of her robes. She tried to pull the object to where she could see it, but it fell from her limp fingers and clattered to the floor. Fortunately, it had landed face-up, and she could see the face of the digital watch. 9:15 AM, it said. She then reached down, and pressed a button on the watch. It was the hardest thing she had ever done. When the date flashed before her, her eyes widened. _No_, she thought miserably. _No, it can't be._

But it was. Nearly two months had passed since she had last been awake, and feeling strong. Two months she had been trapped in this dungeon. And she was still incredibly weak, though it seemed she had been well-fed. _Well, _she thought dryly, _getting struck by Avada Kedavra will do that to you._ She was actually surprised that she was even alive. When she had saved him from the death eaters, she had taken the killing curse accepting the fact that she was probably going to die. However, considering whom her ancestors were, who her father was, and the fact that she was probably the most magical being on this earth, it wasn't surprising that she was alive. Earth, fire, water, wind, and all the animals on earth wouldn't have stood for it. She figured that they had a lot to do with the fact that she was breathing now. She would have to remember to thank them for it.

She shifted her gaze to her limp hand. It was deathly pale, and her bones stuck out sharply. She felt grateful that there were no mirrors in there. She knew she probably looked like hell, and didn't particularly want to have to actually see it. A chilly voice then spoke.

"Ah," it said. "I see you've finally woken up."

Her head slowly rose up, and she spoke coldly. "I might be awake, but with you here I'm still in a nightmare," she hissed. Her voice cracked, but stayed quiet.

"Now that isn't very nice," it said. "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be alive now."

"If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have almost died in the first place," she snarled.

The man stood there for a moment, considering her. "You know, I could finish you off now. Get you out of my life permanently. It would be so easy. I wouldn't even have to use Avada Kedavra on you. A simple curse would do it."

She sneered at him. "Do you really think that you could get rid of me that easily?"

The man's eyes narrowed. "You know as well as I that the only thing holding your frail body together is the forces of the world. And it's hard for them."

She laughed, and it was a chilling thing to hear. Her laughter, which used to be full of light and the world, had become dead, and hollow. "I know this. But it was not my body I was speaking of. Though I may be greatly weakened physically, my spirit, and soul, is as strong as ever. Don't even try it, or I promise you that I'll find another body and kill you. And trust me, this time I'll succeed."

The man's eyes widened. "What do you mean? You've never tried to kill me before."

"Haven't I? Do you really think that a one-year old boy could defeat one of the most powerful wizards alive, merely because his mother died for him? No, even Dumbledore knows better than that. That's why he fears me so."

Lord Voldemort sank to his knees before her and grasped her shoulders. "What did you do?" he hissed, shaking her slightly.

"I merely gave Harry extra protection. Did you really think I'd let you kill him? I made sure that no matter what curse you used on him, it would be reflected on to you."

Voldemort released her, shock evident on his face. "How could you have done that?" he asked weakly. "You were but a child. No older than three. Besides, you were with your foster parents in America. Thousands of miles away. Even if you had known what was going to happen, when it was going to happen, and you were intelligent enough to understand it, your magic couldn't have traveled that distance. It's just not possible."

"Isn't it? Remember, I had all the forces of the world on my side. I could have sent my spell through any number of forces. The wind, or the sea, or through the earth, or even through the sun. I am the closest thing to a god this earth has ever seen, though I do not rule over it. It is merely my ally, and it loves me, and I love it. It would never let me die, and I would never let it die. Do you see? Do you see it, you weak, foolish coward?"

Voldemort slapped her hard across the face. It made a cracking sound, and her head jerked backwards, and she coughed blood. But then she did something that froze the blood in Voldemort's veins. She smiled. And it was a truly unnerving sight. She smiled, and blood was on her teeth. She looked like a vampire. Blood dripped out of the corner of her mouth, and she laughed. Flecks of blood touched Voldemort's face, and he backed away, disgusted. "You can't even stand to hear the truth, can you? I knew it. I knew all along what you are. What you were. A shadow of the past, something meant to die, like me. You are dead, Voldemort. You died a long time ago. You are a seventy-year old, frail wizard, who has no real hope of gaining what he wants. You might have, sixteen years ago. But no more. No more."

Voldemort backed away from her. It was rather shocking; the effect this weak, young nineteen-year old could have on someone as powerful as he. He turned and ran out of the room, leaving her cold laughter in his wake.

**A/N:** Okay, I lied. _Fourth_ revision. Lol. I'm going to drive myself crazy!!!! Anyway, hope you enjoyed the revision, here it is. Review, please, and ten is all I ask for. Lol. Adios!

-CatJetRat


	2. Recovery

**A/N: **All right, I know there's been a lot of confusion since I sort of killed Draco in the first chapter, but all will be explained in this one. And yes, of course this is a Harry/Draco fic. I think I'm physically incapable of writing anything else, lol. Adios!

-CatJetRat

**Chapter 2**

**Recovery**

**Pre-HBP**

**Normal POV**

The girl woke up again, having fallen asleep after laughing at Voldemort. She felt absolutely no further desire to stay in that room. She needed to see Harry. He probably thought she was dead, and she did not want him to think that for much longer. Calling upon all her strength, she magically summoned an object from her robes. She wasn't sure what had happened to her wand, but it didn't matter. Even being, literally, half-dead, she could still use wandless magic just as well as wand magic. The object she had brought out was a crystal. It was a beautiful thing really, and it was sort of cone-shaped. It hung off of a silver chain. It also happened to carry all of her magical energy. She had gotten it when she was eight, when her "parents" had finally seen fit to tell her who she really was. They had given her the crystal, telling her that her mother had wanted her to have it. She had already known who she was though, for the most part, but it had been nice of them to fill in some of the blanks for her.

Since she had gotten the crystal, she had begun filling it with all the energy she could. Every day she gave a bit of her magical energy to it. Not enough to make her weak, or anything, but a good amount. Over the years she had built up so much that she had enough energy to wake the dead and make them ten times as powerful as they had been before, at least. And that was just her own energy. She had gained energy from all the forces of the world. To get great wind power, she had let the crystal go in a tornado, and in ten seconds, it had drained all the power from the twister. She had done that several times. To get water power, she dropped it into the most magically powerful abyss in the world, which had willingly given the crystal all the energy it could hold. For earth power, she had buried it deeply in the most magical place on earth: Stonehenge. She left it there for three days, and when she came back it was almost bursting with earth energy.

Fire power, however, had been difficult. She could have either dropped it into a volcano, or sent it to the sun. Both of these had problems though. If she sent it to the sun, it would almost completely drain her of her magical energy, and it would take weeks in Stonehenge and the sea to completely restore it to her. However, if she put it in a volcano, she wasn't sure what would happen. The earth might suck the crystal up, and she wouldn't be able to find it, or it might make the volcano erupt, and the crystal could get stuck in the lava. However, she finally found a proper medium. She sent it to the sun, _after_ spending several days saving up her energy.

While this was a great amount of energy, and most people couldn't take more than an eighth of its energy, she would need all of it to revive her. She was not like most people. Her original power had been unbelievably great, and she would need it all back for what she knew was ahead. Now that she had survived, she had passed one of her major tests, and it was coming down, all to the huge battle. She needed to be prepared.

The crystal glowed softly, lighting up her faded, tired eyes. She reached out and gently grasped it with her left hand. Energy began pouring into her, and she gasped, almost stopping. But she held on tightly. As she did so, and the magical energy flowed into her, something strange happened. Her skin became slightly tanned, fullness returned to her sunken cheeks, and they turned rosy. Her pale hair, graying even though she was only nineteen, changed to its original colour, light brown, but shining with hints of red and gold. It was rather thin, but extremely soft, and became full and luscious again. Her dull eyes began glowing, and colors started swirling in them. When the glowing finally stopped, her eyes were back to their original, shining color. The crystal was almost empty now, and she absorbed the last of its energy. It dropped from her fingers, a normal crystal now. She crouched there for a few minutes, letting all that magical force settle inside of her. Then her eyes shot open, and she picked the crystal back up and tied it around her neck. She stood up and looked around at her little prison. A smile crept over her face. Now she was ready. The door opened behind her, and she whipped around.

**DH**

_Thud._

Draco's eyes flew open, and he stared anxiously up at the ceiling of his coffin. Dirt was being shoveled away from the top, and, a moment later, the coffin opened, and a hand was pulling him out. Draco took a couple of deep breaths, and turned to his savior.

"Took you long enough," he groused, stretching.

Minerva McGonagall glared at him. "I had to dig you out manually, or else the Ministry would have sensed the magic."

"Oh yeah," Draco mumbled despondently, memories coming back to him. Faking his own death had been one of the most difficult tasks in the world. He had to appear dead, to both the Ministry and Voldemort's forces. He and Professor McGonagall had spent most of the summer planning his death, preparing all the necessary spells in order to fool the Healers and Voldemort.

At the beginning of the summer, Draco had escaped from Severus Snape and Voldemort as well, and approached McGonagall with the hope that she would offer sanctuary. Fortunately for him, she, while furious that he had assisted in Dumbledore's death, was willing to provide him with a safe place to stay, provided that he gave her all the information he had, along with an Unbreakable Vow of loyalty to the Order of the Phoenix. He had agreed, and they planned his death, as Dumbledore had originally intended. His funeral was the same day they found him, as McGonagall wanted to get him buried and out as quickly as possible.

McGonagall had kept him a secret mostly from the Order, though she had told a few people, such as Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Their trust in him was almost nonexistent, considering what had recently happened with Snape, and Draco knew that it would take a great deal to gain even a minute amount of their trust.

Draco joined McGonagall in shoveling dirt back over his now closed coffin. An odd thing had happened to Draco over the summer. He began to see the world in a new light. Being terrified that he could be killed all last year had changed him, and the world seemed grimmer, scarier. Before, he'd had it so easy. The world might as well be his oyster. Now…Draco sighed and shoveled more dirt into his grave. Now he was dead to the world as well as his parents and Voldemort. Now he would be lucky to not end up as such.

Light drifted across his face and Draco looked up at the sky. The moon was rising, full and beautiful. Somewhere in the distance, a Muggle siren sounded.

"That's it." McGonagall was patting the earth with her shovel. She shifted it in her hand and gestured for Draco to follow her. "Come on, Mr. Malfoy. Let's go." She tapped his head with her wand, placing the Disillusionment Charm on him, and then walked towards her recently purchased Muggle car.

Draco followed her into the car, and she switched on the headlights. Draco stared blankly out the window as the dark streets whizzed by, and watched the moon climb steadily higher in the sky. A half hour later they reached London, and about ten minutes after that they parked in front of a driveway between house numbers 11 and 13. Draco got out of the car and McGonagall waved her wand, shrinking the car and sticking it in her pocket. As they walked closer to the house, a door appeared, number 12, Grimmauld Place. McGonagall opened the door and they slipped inside.

Draco murmured his thanks to the new headmistress and made to go up the stairs to his room. The house was entirely silent, as the Order members had figured out a way to destroy the screaming portrait of Mrs. Black, by containing a magical fire around her. Everything Dark in the house had been destroyed, and now, Light objects were beginning to clutter it up. Slowly but surely, the house was becoming warm and inviting. Draco entered his own room, which had a portrait of an often sneering, bodiless voice in it. He ignored the portrait as it clucked at his appearance and he pulled his formal robes off of his body. He wrapped a towel around his waist and walked into the bathroom. Though it was nearly two o'clock at night, he wasn't worried about waking anybody up. The house was deserted. McGonagall had been a bit concerned about leaving him alone, but Draco had assured her that he would be fine. As a matter of fact, he preferred it this way. Being an only child, he had spent most of his childhood alone. His parents had spoiled him rotten, but then had mostly let him be alone. His father spent most of his time wrapped up in politics, while his mother went to parties and enjoyed the more social side of politics. Not that he didn't love his parents, but he wasn't exactly close to them, and, by the time he was five, knew how to take care of himself. He could tolerate being around others, but, when it came right down to it, would prefer to be left alone.

**Pre HBP**

It was him. Of course it was him. She began calling up a spell in her mind, absently searching his mind before realizing that he had absolutely no plan to hurt her. She stopped trying to form the spell, but stayed quite wary of him. "Relax," he said smoothly. "I have no intention of hurting you. I just wanted to see how you're doing. I see you gained your magical strength back."

She nodded quickly. "Yes, I did. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go find Harry. He probably thinks I'm dead."

A strange smile began playing its way across Voldemort's face. "No, he doesn't."

She looked at him with faint interest now. "Oh really? Why not?"

"Because he doesn't think about you at all."

She felt slightly hurt by this, but was determined not to let it show. "Really? Why not?"

He smirked. "For the reason that he doesn't remember you at all."

She felt the blood in her veins freeze. In a flash she was in front of Lord Voldemort, her hands around his neck. "What did you do?" she snarled.

He grinned. "_I_ didn't do anything. It was Dumbledore."

She released him, shock evident on her face. "What?" she asked weakly. "Dumbledore? Why on earth would he erase Harry's memory of me?"

"Not just Harry. Everyone. At least in London. I think everyone in America still remembers you."

"But why would he do that?"

Voldemort shrugged. "From what I gathered from my death eaters, it was because he did not want Harry to have to deal with your death. He thought it might make him go insane."

"So I die and he erases me?" She said quietly, still shocked, hurt, and confused. Then that all turned to anger. "How dare he?" she hissed. Though it might not have seemed like it, her behavior right then was quite strange. She was usually a very happy, cheerful being. Nonviolent, mostly. But almost dying had had a peculiar effect on her. She was now very violent, and the slightest thing could set her off. It was probably because she knew that now it was on, and she needed to be willing to be violent, and strong.

"I'll kill him," she hissed, sweeping past Voldemort.

"You are not going to get very far like that," Voldemort remarked lightly. She stiffened, and turned around.

"What do you mean, pray tell?" she said through gritted teeth.

"I mean that you are barely standing as it is."

She frowned, glancing down at her legs. Sure enough, they were quivering, and she strongly suspected that the only thing keeping her standing was magic, and that wouldn't last long. "I don't understand," she muttered, now examining her flimsy muscles, and flabby, fat stomach. "I'm now fully magical again. Why am I so fat and weak?"

"Two reasons," Voldemort said, coming up and standing behind her. She stood very tensely. "One, because you've spent the last two months in a comatose state, and all you did was consume food and not exercise. Two," he said, leaning down and whispering in her ear, "Because almost dying at the hands of the most powerful wizard in the word will also take a toll on your body as well as your magical abilities." With that, he licked her ear, and plunged his tongue into her ear, then trailed his tongue down to her neck and began sucking and biting at it, and was about to slip his arms around her waist, before her fist made contact with his face. She quickly cleaned all his saliva off of her ear and neck, and, after delivering a well-placed kick to his ribs, said, "The _third_ most powerful. You wonder why I didn't actually die." She then turned around and walked out of the room, leaving Voldemort curled up on the floor behind her, clutching his stomach. She smiled coldly. Voldemort may have been right about her being in no shape to deal with Dumbledore now, but the second she was as powerful as she used to be, he would regret ever messing with Harry's memories. She smiled at this thought, and her cold emerald eyes flashed.

**DH**

Harry tugged his trunk down the stairs on August 30th, feeling rather disgruntled. Professor McGonagall had showed up at the Burrow early in the morning and had insisted that he come to Grimmauld place. There was something she needed to discuss with him. She told him she'd take him to King's Cross, but he needed to come before the holidays were up. Harry had fought with her bitterly about this; he had vowed to never come back to the place if he could help it, but she refused to listen to him. Ron and Hermione had insisted on coming with him, but McGonagall told them no, that she needed to talk to Harry alone.

It was almost noon and Harry's stomach was growling, but McGonagall told him he could eat when he got to the house. Downstairs, all the Weasleys were waiting for him. He had the pleasure of enduring a long, rib-cracking hug from Mrs. Weasley before he could say good bye to the rest of them. Charlie and Bill shook his hand, and the twins attempted to offer him some cheese, which he steadfastly refused. He hugged Ginny and she hugged back, and he felt a kind of warmth in his heart, glad that they could be just friends.

When he got to Ron and Hermione, both were looking rather rebellious. "We'll come with you if you want, Harry," Hermione said in a low voice.

"Yeah," Ron said quickly. "I'm sure we could hide under your invisibility cloak."

"No…it's fine," Harry said reluctantly, for he would have quite liked for them to come with him. "I don't want the two of you getting in trouble. And I'll tell you all about it afterwards."

They nodded and hugged him, and he walked out the door to the car McGonagall was waiting at. They got in and began the long drive to London.

**A/N:** I liked this chapter, though I noticed that the girl came off a bit cold. But don't worry. She's not really like that. She's just a little bit pissed, because she almost died, and found out Dumbledore erased everyone's memory of her, so she's not too happy. She'll be a bit happier later. She just needs some time. Next chapter: Harry sees that Draco isn't dead. Read and review, y'all! Adios!

-CatJetRat


	3. Allies Against Voldemort

**A/N:** I think this goddamn story has a curse on it. Every time I start writing it again and posting it I do it right before a new book comes out. Shit. I guess I have to get my ass in gear if I want to finish it before the new book comes out. If only I can write a chapter a night…lol. Enjoy! Adios!

-CatJetRat

**Chapter 3**

**Allies Against Voldemort**

**Pre HBP**

**Normal POV**

The girl pulled herself up on the monkey bars. The sides were rotting slightly, but considering that she weighed very little, this wasn't a big problem. She lowered herself slowly down before pulling herself up again. She gritted her teeth. Acquiring her magic was one thing, but recovering her physical strength was another completely. After about fifty pull-ups, she let herself down again, an established frown on her face. She had hoped that she would never have to do this again. When she was eleven she had forced her body to become strong to enhance her physical magic, and she had hated it. It was much easier to just stay fit and strong than to become so. She rubbed her neck, irritated.

"So how's it going?" Voldemort asked, coming up behind her.

"Go away," she moaned, covering her face with her hands. "Or I'll be forced to punch you again."

Voldemort retreated slightly, but was smiling nonetheless. "It's going to take you a very long time to get to where you were before," he remarked.

"Whatever," she muttered, knowing he was right.

"Probably about five months or more to get there. And you know that the longer Harry goes without having his memories recovered, the harder it will be to recover them," Voldemort said with a smirk.

The girl whipped around, fire in her eyes. She grabbed his collar and hissed, "How about I just take all of _your_ strength?"

Still smirking, Voldemort said, "You know as well as I do that if you did that you would be getting very little strength. My body strength relies almost solely upon my magical strength, and that's not what you need."

"Sod off," the girl snarled, brushing past him.

"You know I'm right about both things," Voldemort said in a know-it-all tone and crossed his arms.

"Yes," she sneered, her lip curling. "But you seem to be operating under the delusion that I _care_. I could retrieve Harry's memories when he was ninety if I wanted to."

"You could," Voldemort conceded. "But you won't."

"Sure about that?" she asked lightly, but there was a trace of ice in her words.

An evil smile crossed Voldemort's face. "Yes. You see, what you aren't taking into account is that it was not only _his_ memories that were erased. You'll have to revive all of Europe's memories of you, because that's how far Dumbledore's charm stretched."

Her eyes widened. "He can do that?" She gasped. "I thought it was only me that could."

Voldemort shook his head. "You made the mistake of underestimating Dumbledore."

"That will never happen again," she muttered. She glanced at Voldemort, and something seemed to occur to her.

"Wait," she muttered, staring at him. "How come _you_ remember me?"

Voldemort smiled. "I wondered when that would come to your mind."

"It came to mind long beforehand; I just didn't deem it important enough to ask at the time," she muttered.

Voldemort ignored her. "I remember you because the second Harry left the graveyard I cast a spell over the entire place to protect me and all my death eaters from spells or eyes. It was powerful enough to cancel out Dumbledore's spell."

She nodded, accepting this. After all, he had no real reason to lie as far as she knew. But whatever. If he was lying she would get it out of him when she was questioning him after slipping some Veritiserum into his drink, which she planned on doing before she left. She looked around. "Where are we, anyway?" She asked curiously.

"My old orphanage," Voldemort responded impassively.

She nodded at this also. Voldemort gazed at her for a few moments, before leaving her. She stared after him briefly, an unreadable expression on her face, before she got back on the ground and began doing push-ups.

**DH**

Draco ran a comb through his night-mussed hair and donned a pair of worn, Muggle jeans which were, he hated to admit, quite comfortable, stuck his wand through a belt loop in them and trotted downstairs, bare-chested. On impulse he conjured a vase of roses on the bare, hall table and smiled. Every day he tried to do something to brighten up the house a bit. Malfoy Manor hadn't exactly been warm and inviting, but Draco had done his best to make the place homey while still maintaining its magnificence. Roses had the air of royalty.

Slightly more cheerful, Draco walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Remus Lupin, though initially ill-disposed towards him, had warmed and taught him how to cook things the Muggle way. He also taught him several more Muggle things, in case Draco ever had to go into hiding as a Muggle from the Dark Lord. Though cooking the Muggle way was slow, Draco had to admit it was quite relaxing. Baking was his favorite, though, in cooking spaghetti and meat sauce, he discovered he had a flair for spices. Draco smiled and pulled out some bacon, eggs, and English Muffins.

When the front door opened ten minutes later, the smell of bacon was filling the air, and Draco was slicing up tomatoes, onions, cheese, and some other ingredients to put in the omelets he was making. Draco quickly waved his wand and the spatula and knife continued to do the work while he went to greet Professor McGonagall, who said she was bringing a guest to stay for a couple days.

Draco grabbed a shirt off the counter and shrugged it on over his shoulders, put on his best greeting smile, and went to the hallway. The smile slipped of his face faster than warm butter and he swore when he saw who it was.

"Now, Harry," Professor McGonagall said warily as Harry and Draco glared at each other across the hall. Well, Draco did most of the glaring. Harry looked rather dumbfounded. "I've talked with Draco a great deal, and he's not dangerous. He's agreed to work for our side. He made an Unbreakable Vow of loyalty to the group."

"Not quite the same as a usual Unbreakable Vow," Malfoy said, seemingly on impulse to Harry. "If I tried to break it I would simply be stripped of all my memories of time spent in the Order."

"But…you're…_dead_!" Harry burst out, and McGonagall winced while Malfoy grinned broadly.

"Potter, Potter, I'm ashamed of you," Malfoy tsked. "I thought you knew better than to believe everything you read."

Harry flushed. Professor McGonagall spoke. "Oh, no, Harry, I forgot about what the papers said. I thought I would have a chance to explain everything myself…Merlin." She sighed. "Well, we might as well sit down and have breakfast. I'll explain everything."

Still watching Malfoy warily, Harry followed him into the kitchen and sat down, where the delicious scent of cooking food hit his nose. His stomach growled, and Malfoy smirked. Harry glared. Now that he knew Malfoy wasn't dead, his old animosity came rushing back, stronger than ever, for Harry felt that Malfoy had personally insulted him by pretending to be dead. He had _cried_ for the stupid bastard, for heaven's sake! Now he wasn't dead, and Harry felt little else but embarrassment and anger.

Breakfast was served, and Harry, in spite of his inhibitions, dove into the food with surprising gusto. Malfoy gazed at him in slight disgust, but Harry ignored him and finished his bacon, omelet, and toast in record time, four minutes fifteen seconds.

"All right," Harry said, brushing crumbs off of his chin. "Talk."

"What, you aren't going to thank me for the lovely meal?" Malfoy asked sarcastically.

Harry shrugged. "Thanks," he said. "Now talk."

"What's there to explain?" Malfoy shot back. He hadn't touched his food. "I came over to the Light Side, and Professor McGonagall helped me fake my death to protect me and my parents."

"How does that help your parents?" Harry asked. "They aren't pretending to be dead somewhere."

"No," Malfoy conceded, lips tightening. "But the Dark Lord thinks I'm dead, and Dumbledore's dead. He now thinks he has full control of my parents, and, as they don't know anything, they can't give away the fact that I'm still alive. In a few months, we'll hide my mother, and then my father, whether they want it or not. I won't have my family dying in this war, even if they have to go to Azkaban afterwards."

Harry glanced at Professor McGonagall, whose hand was clenched tightly over her wand. Clearly she was afraid the conversation would spin out of control. "You trust him?" Harry said, voice slightly aggressive.

"No, Potter, I don't, and that's why I have him here, instead of in Azkaban," Professor McGonagall snapped, her sarcasm eerily mirroring Malfoy's.

Harry frowned, and glanced at Malfoy, but he couldn't think of any argument against keeping him. After all, Dumbledore offered protection, didn't he? "Are you coming back to Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

"Yes, I'll just waltz right in and blow my cover," Malfoy snarled, rising from his chair. "Merlin, Potter, are you incapable of asking _any_ intelligent questions whatsoever?" He snatched Harry's plate from him and waved his wand. The plate cleaned itself. He waved his wand again and the food on his own plate vanished, and the plate was left clean.

"Draco, if you wouldn't mind," Professor McGonagall said, gesturing at her own plate.

"Of course, Professor," he said, his voice suddenly respectful. He waved his wand again, and returned the clean plates to the cabinet. He flicked his wand once more, and the kitchen was left clean, everything put away.

"I must take my leave," McGonagall said, standing up and pushing her wand back into her robes. "I trust you two can take care of yourselves?"

Harry hadn't expected her to leave, but he wasn't about to be the first one to protest. He nodded, and Draco did the same. "Good," she said, and embraced Draco. Harry looked away, a sick feeling in his stomach. She clasped Harry's shoulder, and then left.

**Pre HBP**

The young girl smiled as she observed the Death Eater meeting from afar. She could clearly distinguish all of them, and her smile widened when she spotted Snape. They continued conversing for a few minutes before the meeting came to an end. Snape lagged behind to speak with a few others in private, which was what she had been hoping for. Swiftly and quietly, she moved forward and stayed in the shadows as the other Death Eaters left. Snape was about to leave too, but she called out for him.

"Severus," she called smoothly.

Snape froze, as though hardly daring to believe his ears. He slowly turned around on the spot, and she emerged from the shadows. "_You_!" he hissed.

"Me," she said, her smile relaxed.

Snape shook his head, staring hard at her as though hoping she'd disappear. "You shouldn't be here," he said quietly, sweeping past her, his long robes billowing. .

"Oh, Severus, don't be so cold. What happened? You used to like me," she responded with a smirk.

Snape turned around on the spot and sized her up. "You've gained weight," he commented.

She scowled. "A problem that is quickly being remedied. You look as fabulous as ever," she said, with a rather wry smile.

He sighed. "Dumbledore thinks you're dead."

"Does he, now? Gee, I wasn't under the impression that he cared. Or that he wanted anyone else to care, for that matter," she said bitterly. "Have you enlightened him as to my continued existence?"

Snape shook his head. "The Dark Lord has forbidden us to speak of you to any except other Death Eaters. Dumbledore continues to believe in your utter and complete demise."

She shook her head in disgust. "He should know better than that. The fool."

Severus's next words were clipped and icy. "You of all people should not speak of underestimating people. The Dark Lord told us of your blunder."

The girl's eyes darkened. "I'll kill him," she snarled, getting up and pulling her wand out. "Where is he?"

Snape sighed, sounding tired. "Do not be foolish enough to try and kill him again. You know as well as I that that never ever works."

"Well, he couldn't kill me either, could he?" she said defiantly.

Snape shook his head, and, for the first time that night, he looked amused. "No, I suppose he couldn't." He then muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?" she asked grumpily.

"Nothing, nothing," Snape said airily. "Shouldn't you be off killing someone?" he added with a smirk.

"Ha, ha, you're hysterical, as always," she said, and though she tried to sound annoyed, there was a slight smile on her face. She missed these times with Snape, their playful banter.

A smile was lighting up his face too. He reached out and grasped her hand. "I'm glad he couldn't kill you," Severus said sincerely, squeezing once before dropping her hand. She inclined her head, and sent him a mental message. As they were both very skilled in Legilimency, they had found a way to transmit thoughts to one another, while blocking it from all others using Occlumency. _And I am glad he did not kill you,_ she sent him.

_As am I. It was close, but I managed to make him believe me, though he is still watching me closely,_ he responded.

_Just keep it up. The Light Side needs you_, she told him.

He nodded._ Enough for now; it's too dangerous_, he thought.

She nodded also and smiled. She rose and began to leave, but Snape's voice stopped her.

"Wait, madam. The Dark Lord has informed us that you have changed your name temporarily. Is this true?" Snape called.

She paused and turned around. "My name? Yes, for now, I have decided that my old name must go into hiding."

"Why?"

"Well," she said with a mysterious smile, "This is a new phase in my life, so why shouldn't I have a new name? Also," she added, more seriously, "If I need to interact with others who don't remember me, I don't want to give my old name, in case it triggers something. I want to be remembered, but on my own terms. So now I have a new name."

"Have you finally decided to use the name your mother gave you originally?" Snape asked, the curiosity evident in his voice.

She laughed, a tinkling laugh that almost creepily mirrored her father's. "Now, now Severus, the game isn't up yet!" she said, and her eyes twinkled. "When it is, I shall tell you. But not yet. No, I have chosen a name to represent what I am."

"Which is?" Snape asked, beginning to sound slightly frustrated. Her smile widened.

"It is a name that suits me perfectly: Mnemosyne."

Snape wrinkled his nose, though he smiled slightly. "Ah, I see…" he murmured. "It fits you, I suppose. And I like the meaning behind it. However, aren't you worried it's a bit complicated?"

"It's my choice. Besides, someone will eventually come up with a nickname. I'm sure of it."

Snape nodded. "So I suppose that is what you wish to be called now?"

She smiled sadly. "Call me what you want. That is merely my new name to be given to people."

He shrugged. "I'll call you Mnemosyne. But I liked your other name better."

Mnemosyne shrugged. "It matters not. Besides, it is not permanent. Come, we must be off. I have much I wish to discuss with you, and I would rather do it in a warm Muggle tea shop than this cold, dank graveyard."

They stood and left. Their eavesdropper narrowed his eyes. Mnemosyne? What a foolish choice for a name. It did not fit her at all, despite what Snape had said. And with a shake of his head, Voldemort swept away, muttering.

**DH**

"I'll show you to your room," Malfoy muttered, not looking at Harry. Harry grabbed his trunk and levitated it up the stairs, following Malfoy. He was given the room the girls, Hermione and Ginny, had shared in fifth year. Malfoy vanished the moment he made it clear that it was Harry's room, and Harry frowned, unsure of what to do. With a small sigh, he set his trunk down next to the bed and sat on it. He felt jittery, nervous, and didn't understand why Professor McGonagall had insisted he come here. Wouldn't it have been enough just to tell him about Draco Malfoy? After all, he hadn't ever wanted to come to this place again. Just being there gave him the creeps, as though Sirius was still there, watching him.

He quickly decided that it would be best to stay packed, seeing as how he was leaving a day after tomorrow. He glanced around and realized that he was far too full of nervous energy for it to be contained in one room. Harry quietly pulled opened the door and padded down the stairs. He went through room after room, pausing in each one, remembering his time there, cleaning it out with the Weasleys and Sirius. When he reached the drawing room he paused, looking at the Black family tree, which, for some reason, hadn't been taken out yet. In the light of the sun, shining through the curtains, Harry traced the golden lines, finger coming to rest on Sirius's burned-out name, beside his brother, Regulus, killed seventeen years before. His eyes cast around, landing on the name Lucius Malfoy, connected to Narcissa Malfoy, formerly Narcissa Black. His eyes darkened as they landed on the name of one of her sisters, Bellatrix Black, now Bellatrix Lestrange. Pushing aside thoughts about how much he would love to maim and destroy her, Harry's eyes alighted on Molly Prewett, now Molly Weasley. He grinned and looked back at the Malfoys. So…Draco and the Weasley children were fourth cousins. He wondered what Malfoy would do if he knew about this connection to those he so despised. Speak of the devil….

"Looking at my family history, Potter?" Malfoy drawled. Harry jumped, and felt his cheeks flame. It was still odd and embarrassing to be addressed by someone he had thought was dead. Harry struggled to remain nonchalant.

"Yeah. You're related to the Weasleys, did you know?" Harry said, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

"Yes," Malfoy said disdainfully, walking over and standing next to Harry, gazing at the family tree. "Fourth cousins, I believe, with the children. Sirius Black was my first cousin, once removed."

Harry's hand gave an involuntary twitch at the name, and at the realization that he was standing next to someone who had the same blood which once ran through Sirius's veins. Harry glanced at Malfoy surreptitiously, wondering if he had any features similar to Sirius's. Harry was surprised to note that he did. Malfoy was standing up straight, something Sirius rarely did, but he had the same dark, brooding look Sirius wore, and was running his fingers through his hair in the same way Harry often saw Sirius do.

It was almost too much to bear. Harry turned away and sat down heavily in a chair. Malfoy stayed standing next to the family tree, and his back was turned to Harry when he next spoke.

"You followed me all year." His voice was soft, but nonetheless audible. He turned around, and caught sight of Harry's surprised face. "Yes, I noticed. I was wondering if you might tell me why."

"I—" Harry hesitated, and plowed on, figuring it couldn't hurt to say. "I thought you were a Death Eater. My friends were convinced I was going mad, and becoming too obsessed with you, but I was right in the end."

Malfoy's eyebrows raised slightly, but that was the only sign that anything Harry said had affected him. "When did you start to suspect?"

"Before school started." At the look on Malfoy's face, Harry continued hastily. "Ron, Hermione and I saw you go into Borgin and Burkes and we heard your conversation. I sort of…figured it out from there."

"But your followers didn't?" Malfoy's pale eyebrows arched even higher.

"They aren't my followers, they're my friends," Harry muttered. Malfoy snorted. "And no, they didn't."

There was a short pause. When Malfoy spoke again, it was in a slightly strangled voice. "I know you were there that night."

Harry considered playing dumb for a moment, and then discarded the notion. "Really? How?"

"McGonagall told me. She said you were underneath your invisibility cloak, and that you were frozen by a spell of Dumbledore's." Malfoy's voice faltered a bit at the name, but he continued on ruthlessly. "How much did you see?"

"All of it," Harry whispered.

"Ah." Malfoy cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his hair again. Harry's eyes flicked away. "I want you to know—I regret what happen. I never liked Dumbledore, but it was decent of him to offer me and my family protection, and even more decent of McGonagall to follow through after—after what happened."

"'Decent.'" Harry felt something inside him snap at Malfoy's words. "It was more than bloody decent of him! He was heroic! Until the very last, when you offered him up to the Death Eaters, to _Snape_—" Harry spat the word "—like a piece of meat."

Malfoy flinched. "I'm trying to offer a truce," he said in a voice of barely contained anger.

"You can take your _truce_ and shove it!" Harry was shouting, on his feet now, anger that he hadn't felt since the night Dumbledore died coursing through his veins. "If it wasn't for you, Dumbledore would still be alive!"

"Do you think I don't know that, Potter?!" Malfoy had lost his temper, and his eyes were wild, practically ice chips of silver spitting cold fire at Harry. "Do you think I don't lie awake every night, tossing and turning, wondering where my life went wrong? Do you think I like having to hide from everyone I thought I could trust, giving myself over to the mercy of people like you? Everything in my life is screwed, Potter, and Dumbledore is dead!" Malfoy's voice broke, and Harry saw tears glistening in his eyes. "A man is dead because I was too much of a coward to do what I knew was right. If I had stopped for half a second to think about the 'Dark Lord' and how idiotic he is I would have stopped what I was doing and turned myself in! But I didn't _think_. I just worked on fixing the vanishing cabinet, convinced that all my problems would be solved then. Now I'm faced with a host of new ones, because I realized the right thing to do too late! You don't know what it's like, Potter, to be raised your entire life believing that something is wrong, that one man is godlike and good, only to meet him and realize he'd disgusting and cruel, and nothing matters but power. There's no room for love and hope and happiness. Just power. So much power. I thought I wanted it, but I didn't! It was just too much, and so evil, and full of hate. I just—" Malfoy's voice fell away, and his head turned to the side. He took several deep breaths, turning his face up to the ceiling, and Harry realized he was holding back tears. "I just wanted to make my parents proud."

Harry wasn't quite sure what to say. He did know that he hadn't expected that kind of outburst from Malfoy. He reached a hand out to Malfoy, and let it fall away. He knew that what Malfoy need was reassurance of some kind, but he didn't know how to give it. Had Harry been his mother, he simply could have held Malfoy. As a friend, he could have consoled Malfoy. But what to do as a rival?

"Malfoy," he said firmly. "Look at me." Unwillingly, Malfoy's gaze met his, and Harry saw dislike course through his eyes, similar to the dislike Harry was feeling at that moment. "I don't like you very much, and I know you don't like me. But there's a war going on. You've suffered, I've suffered, everyone's suffered, and everyone has made mistakes. But right now, that doesn't matter. We need, _need_ to defeat Voldemort." Malfoy drew in a swift breath, but otherwise didn't comment on the name, his eyes locked on Harry's face. "Innocent people are dying out there, and we both need to do what we can to stop that. Can you help the Light Side, or are you too busy reliving your mistakes in the Dark?"

Something seemed to move within Malfoy, and his face became resolute. "I can help," he said decisively.

"Good." Harry paused for a moment, and then held his hand out to Malfoy's. "Allies against Voldemort?"

Malfoy gazed at Harry's hand, and a trace of a smile caressed his face before he took it.

"Allies against Voldemort."

**A/N:** Whew. Damn, that just sort of poured out of me like piss. Lol, but hopefully it's worth more. Now, what's this five reviews crap we got going on? Review the bloody thing! You took the time to read it! Review it! Lol. Adios!

-CatJetRat


	4. Back to Power

**A/N:** All right, this story is starting to flow. Now if I can just keep the flow going, I'll be able to finish it by July 21st!! Well, probably not, but still. I can try. Lol. Adios!

-CatJetRat

**Chapter 4**

**Back to Power**

**Pre-HBP**

**Normal POV**

Mnemosyne observed another Death Eater meeting with faint amusement. She walked over to the meeting, and while before, they had been speaking quietly, waiting for Voldemort to arrive, all fell silent at her presence. The months had passed, slowly, and she was now just as powerful as she had been before Voldemort had tried to kill her. The Death Eaters could sense her magic, equal in strength to the Dark Lord's, and were awed by it into a grudging respect.

A slight smile graced her lovely features. "Lucius," she said, inclining her head.

He bowed. "My lady," he murmured, brushing the back of her hand with his lips. She then addressed each of the Death Eaters in turn before she spoke again. She glanced casually at Lucius. "How is Draco?" she asked smoothly.

"He is well," Lucius answered at once. "Second in his class. He is very bright and powerful."

She smirked. "Second to whom?"

His eyes narrowed. "Hermione Granger."

She laughed coldly. "Oh, a Pureblood second to a Mudblood? That's rich. What is your explanation for this?"

"I have two." His voice had turned icy. "One, that she works twice as hard to make up for bad blood, and two, that Muggle-loving fool of a headmaster favors her."

She inclined her head. "Indeed. But although Granger and Draco are matched in intelligence, Draco is more powerful magically. As for Harry Potter—" A slight ripple went around the circle at his name. Mnemosyne smiled grimly. "—He is intelligent, and as magically powerful as Draco, but I am sorry to say that Potter bests Draco in Quidditch any day."

Lucius snarled, and pulled out his wand, trying to hex her. She banished the curse with an impatient wave of her hand. "You would dare to challenge me?" She walked forward slowly. "I, who not even the Dark Lord Voldemort could defeat? I, who has full command of all magic, Dark and Light? I, who with a snap of her fingers—" She snapped her fingers, and Lucius rose up, as though gripped by the neck. "—Could end your miserable little life? Do you truly dare to challenge me?!" Her voice rose to a roar, and Lucius's eyes widened in fear.

"No," he gasped, choking. "No, my Queen. Of course not."

She waved her hand and he fell to ground, breathing heavily. "Do not cross me again, Lucius," she hissed in a deadly voice. "I hope your son is a better man than you."

Voldemort appeared at the opposite end of the circle, looking furious. "Mnemosyne! What is the meaning of this?"

She smiled indolently and walked over to him. "Just teaching your pets a little lesson about challenging me." She eyed him contemptuously. "My lord," she said in a mocking voice, daring him to oppose her. His eyes narrowed.

"Leave," he said firmly. "Now."

She grinned. "Of course," she said, and swept out of the circle in a billow of white cape and silky dress, with black snakes circling up the sleeves.

Mnemosyne decided to once again observe the Death Eater meeting from a distance. Smiling, she settled herself on a patch of grass, which immediately became soft, green, and welcoming for her, though before it had been brown and dead. She smiled and murmured thanks to the Earth, and looked up at Voldemort, a slight sneer touching her face.

Truly, the man was foolish. He had never understood the point of bonding with the Earth, of loving it and being loved back by it. But that was his foolish loss. A dancing devil who made his own doom.

Mnemosyne conjured a ball of flame above the fingers of her right hand, contemplated it for a moment, and then let it dissipate. Only would Voldemort finally see his mistakes when he was an inch from death. As for Dumbledore….

A cold smile lit her face, only more fearful than Voldemort's if one knew her. The rest would have to learn to fear. Like Dumbledore had. Mnemosyne was willing to bet that he could be stopped, and made to see his mistakes before it was too late. Though of this she was not sure.

She sighed, and the wind of the Earth danced across her hair, her cheeks, indeed, her entire body, and she closed her eyes, smiling, giving herself over to the powers of the Earth. They strengthened her magic, and her life and love.

When her eyes next opened they were burning with a new fervor.

_Soon, brother,_ she thought fiercely. _Soon._

**DH**

The two days Harry was stuck with Malfoy were surprisingly quiet. Malfoy mostly stayed in his room, venturing out for food and books on Defense Against the Dark Arts. On August 31, Harry and Malfoy found themselves in the library together, Harry searching through the Dark Arts books, of which there were many. Malfoy looked up at him several times before he finally broke.

"All right, what are you looking for?" he demanded to know.

Harry paused. Allies though they might be, Harry wasn't sure if he could trust Malfoy with information like this. But, then again, he _had_ sworn an oath of loyalty to the group. Anything Harry told him he would just forget if he tried to relay it to Voldemort. Besides that, Malfoy was going to be sitting in this house with little else to do all year. He might as well help research.

Harry walked over and sat down in front of Malfoy. He had an apprehensive, curious look on his face, one Harry had almost never seen him wear before, except when they were in Potions. Harry bit back a wry smile. "Do you know what Horcruxes are, Malfoy?" he asked.

Malfoy's nose crinkled as he tried to remember. "Something to do with souls?" he guessed.

Harry shrugged. "More or less. A Horcrux is an object which contains a portion of a wizard or witch's soul."

"How does that work?"

Harry winced at Malfoy's eager tone. "By killing someone. When a witch or wizard kills someone, their soul is torn in half, and a witch or wizard who wants a Horcrux can take that opportunity to imbue their soul in an object of their choice."

"Why would someone do that?" Malfoy no longer sounded quite as eager.

Harry shrugged. "To achieve immortality. So that if the part of your soul which is inside your body is killed, you can stay alive."

Malfoy frowned slightly. "But…with half a soul? What kind of life is that?"

Harry shrugged. "For some people, life is everything. Voldemort had Horcruxes."

"More than one?"

"Yeah, for the first time ever, someone had more than one. Dumbledore thought he had six, because we saw a memory where Voldemort as a kid asked Professor Slughorn about Horcruxes, and asked him if seven would be the best number of pieces of soul to have, so we think he had six Horcruxes, with the last part of his soul encased in his body. I destroyed one of the Horcruxes when I was twelve—"

"_Twelve_?" Malfoy looked grudgingly impressed. "How did you manage that?"

"Do you remember all the attacks on the school when we were in second year?" Malfoy nodded. "Well, it came from a diary Ginny Weasley was given, by your father," Harry added, rather resentfully. "It was one of Voldemort's Horcruxes, and his soul came out and started ordering the basilisk to—"

"Wait—_basilisk_?" Malfoy's eyes were wide, and Harry sighed, and went on to explain everything he knew about the Horcruxes, both those destroyed and still active. When he finished, Malfoy looked rather awed. "Wow," he said softly. "_Six_ Horcruxes? He really did go all out to cheat death."

Harry watched him apprehensively for a moment, afraid he was going to start praising Voldemort. Strangely, he did the opposite. "The fool," Malfoy sneered. "The weak fool. I'm actually glad I came to the Light Side now, and not just because my life was in danger."

"What?" Harry felt rather startled. "Why?"

Malfoy arched an eyebrow at him. "Would _you_ want to follow someone so weak and sniveling, someone who's so scared of death they're willing to tear their soul apart to avoid it? To me, that's the ultimate weakness."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "I never thought about it like that. No, I guess not." Harry paused. "You know, I've always wondered something. Why do the Death Eaters follow Voldemort if he's a half-blood?"

"_What??_" Malfoy rose up in horror and shock. "What do you mean, a half-blood?"

"His dad was a Muggle that his mom seduced." Harry frowned. "You didn't know?"

"No." Malfoy sat back down, a contemplative look on his face. "Well, that certainly puts a new spin on things." He grinned suddenly. "Oh, Merlin, I can just imagine the look of shock on my father's face if he found out the Dark Lord was a half-blood."

"You mean like the one you just had on your face?" Harry responded dryly. Malfoy shrugged.

"Old views. Old loyalty, coming into light with that revelation. I never would have guessed the Dark Lord to be a half-blood."

"Don't call him that," Harry said in a pained voice. Malfoy glanced at him in some surprise.

"Call who what?" he said.

"Don't call Voldemort the Dark Lord."

Malfoy frowned. "Why not?"

Harry grimaced, remembering the way Snape always used to call Voldemort the "Dark Lord". "Because I've only ever heard Death Eaters call him the Dark Lord. When you call him that, it reminds me that you used to be a Death Eater," Harry explained.

"I doubt you need that to remind you of who I was," Malfoy muttered, and pulled out his wand. He cast a few quick countercharms on his left forearm and the Dark Mark suddenly appeared.

"Whoa!" Harry scrambled out of his chair and yanked his wand out. "What the—"

"Relax, Potter." Malfoy looked slightly annoyed. "It can't hurt you."

"I thought you said that you and McGonagall got rid of it?" Harry said suspiciously.

"We did—don't look at me like that, Potter—we got rid of all the charms and curses associated with it, but I asked her to let me keep the tattoo," Malfoy snapped.

"Why?"

"To remind me of my stupidity, and that which I'll never be again." Malfoy shrugged. "It's a reminder, and a warning against myself, to not be evil, which is what I was raised to be." Malfoy suddenly smiled rather wryly. "My father always used to call me his faithful dragon. I guess I lived up to my last name after all."

"What do you mean?" Harry sat back down, but didn't put his wand away, watching Malfoy warily.

"Malfoy, it means "Bad faith", you know, "mal" as in malicious, and "foy" means faith. And, of course, Draco means dragon, so I'm a dragon of bad faith."

"Oh." Harry had never realized what Malfoy's name meant before, but now that he did, it wasn't all that surprising. Harry glanced at Malfoy again, black hair falling in his eyes, and he noticed something.

"Hey," he said, grinning. "Did you ever notice anything about our hair color and complexion?"

"No," Malfoy said in a bored tone. "I did notice something about our eyes, though."

"Okay, you tell me yours first." Malfoy looked at him strangely, and Harry realized that he sounded a tad eager.

"Well, I noticed that you have green eyes and I have grayish-silver ones," Malfoy said, as if that explained everything.

"Huh?" Harry was stumped. "What about it?"

Malfoy sighed impatiently. "Green and silver are the Slytherin House colors! Just imagine if you'd been sorted into Slytherin. It would have been so perfect, our eyes combined to make that colors of our House." Malfoy sighed wistfully, and Harry flushed. Though Malfoy didn't know it, what he'd said wasn't as ridiculous as it might sound to an outsider. Harry felt rather glad in that moment that Malfoy didn't know he'd nearly been sorted into Slytherin.

"Yeah," Harry muttered.

"Anyway," Malfoy said briskly. "What was it you were saying about our complexions?"

"Oh…" Harry grinned, remembering. "Just…you know how you were for the Dark and I for the Light?" Malfoy nodded. "Well, your hair, it's so pale, and light, and so is your skin color." Malfoy's eyes widened a fraction when he realized where Harry was taking this.

"And your hair is black, and your skin tone tanned and darker than mine." Malfoy nodded appreciatively. "An interesting contradiction, Potter, I'm impressed you noticed it."

Harry chose to ignore the concealed insult. Malfoy fiddled with his Dark Mark for a second before speaking again. "I won't call him the Dark Lord if it really bothers you that much," he acquiesced. "But what should I call him then?"

"Why not Voldemort?" Harry suggested, then rolled his eyes at Malfoy's tiny wince. "What? You said it well enough a couple of days ago!"

"Yes, well, that was when I had adrenaline and conviction flowing through my veins," Malfoy said crossly.

"Oh, so you didn't really mean the things you said then?" Harry glared at Malfoy.

"It's not that—oh, Merlin, Potter, you're so difficult to please—it's just…hard to say a name I've been taught all my life to fear!"

"'Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself'!" Harry snapped.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Let me guess—Dumbledore?"

"Yes, and it's damn good advice if you're willing to take it!"

"FINE!" Malfoy exploded. "Bloody—fine! I'll call him V—V—Vold—Voldemort if you want, but only on one condition!"

"What?" Harry said, his voice still sharp, but now slightly curious. "What do you want?"

"I—" Malfoy hesitated, and plowed ahead. "I want you to write me."

Harry stared at him. "You want me to write to you?"

Malfoy nodded. "Over the school year. I'll be going mad with boredom here. Keep me up to date on the Horcrux search, and everything else, even if that just means the latest gossip at school." Malfoy paused, and here, he almost looked sad. "I rather wish I was going back. It would be my last year at Hogwarts with my friends, and everyone I know. It could have been a great year. But now…." Malfoy shook his head. "Just…keep me informed, Potter. Please."

It was the "Please" that broke Harry. Malfoy had never said please to him in his life, and probably never would again. "Okay," he agreed. "But we need to figure out a way of making sure that anyone who intercepts our letters doesn't gain any information from them."

Malfoy nodded. "I know a spell that my father taught me, and it was pretty useful in keeping up Death Eater correspondence to the school."

Harry grimaced, but looked past it. "What was it?"

"Vanishing Letters. Basically what it did was, if the letter was seen by eyes other than the intended recipient, it would transform into a different, inconspicuous letter, and a copy of the original letter would be sent to the person intending to receive it, and it would be invisible, vanishing and then appearing at the intended address. What I would do, is I would write the letter, than have Crabbe or Goyle try to read it, and it would instantly appear in my father's hands."

"A handy little spell," Harry murmured. "But wouldn't it be more efficient to just have it appear in the recipient's hands?"

"Yes, but no one's ever figured out how to do that."

"I bet Hermione could," Harry said.

Malfoy raised one eyebrow, but didn't say anything. "All right, Potter. Do you want to know the spell or not?"

**Pre HBP**

Before Mnemosyne was nearly killed by Voldemort, Dumbledore had taken her on a tour of Grimmauld Place, the house Sirius Black had lived in as a child, and asked her if she thought it would be a good place to set up headquarters. She said she did, and he set up the Fidelius charm then and there, and told her the location of it. Therefore it was easy for her to slip in unnoticed on a cool morning at the beginning of June. She crept through the house, noting in approval the state of it, much better than it had been before. She slid up the stairs, and walked down the hallway, peeking in each bedroom before she finally came upon the one Sirius was resting in. A smile curved her face when she saw who he was tangled up with.

She made herself comfortable on a chair next to the bed and sat there, waiting for Sirius and Remus to wake up.

A few minutes later, Remus began to stir, and the his eyes opened and he yawned sleepily. He looked exhausted, though she doubted that it was from lack of sleep. She touched her crystal, renewed with power, and relieved some of his pain. Several wrinkles vanished, and his amber eyes looked a tad brighter.

"What—?" he muttered in confusion, sitting up and stretching. Then he glanced around the room. "WHAT THE—" He scrambled out of the bed, shaking Sirius hard.

"What is it, Moony?" he mumbled, cracking an eye open. He spotted Mnemosyne. His eyes widened and he sat up straight. "No—" he whispered. "It—it can't be." Mnemosyne smiled. She knew that Dumbledore would make sure at least one person remembered her, and she'd bet on it being Sirius. She was right.

Remus looked down at Sirius, and back up at Mnemosyne. "What—Padfoot, do you know this woman?"

"Yes," Sirius said. "Am—am I dreaming? Is it really you— "

"Yes," Mnemosyne said quickly, before he could say her name. "But I've changed my name. It's now 'Mnemosyne'. Please call me that."

"Okay," Sirius said dumbly. "But—you're dead."

"So I've heard," she muttered.

"Then—how are you here?"

She shrugged, and spread her hands. "Come now, Sirius. Do you really think a silly little spell like _Avada Kedavra_ could kill me?" A smirk crossed her face. "But before we discuss things any further, perhaps we should restore Remus's memories."

"Oh, yeah," Sirius said distantly, glancing at Remus. He grinned suddenly. "Moony, you might want to put some clothes on." Lupin glanced down at himself and turned red, scrambling around for his underwear.

Mnemosyne waited until he had yanked some boxers on, and then pulled her wand out, giving it a casual flick, allowing her power to rush through her body. It was wonderful, and exhilarating as usual, but once the spell was done, she quickly put a cap on her magic, lest she become immersed in it, the way her father had.

Remus froze, and collapsed on the floor as memories began to rush through his head. A moment later, they were done. He looked up and around through new eyes, and when he looked back at her, it was with an expression of familiarity.

"You're alive," he said softly.

"Yes," she replied. "And kindly remember to call me Mnemosyne. Not my—old name."

"Why?" he asked bluntly.

She shrugged. "It's just too—it would make me want to revive Harry's memories far too much." She sat up. "Now, where's Skye? Does she remember me?"

"Yeah," Sirius said tiredly. "She does. Dumbledore sent her back to America, and made her promise not to come back."

Mnemosyne's face clenched in anger. "I see. Remus, do you have any questions?"

"Well, yes. Why did Dumbledore erase all of our memories?"

Mnemosyne turned to Sirius. "Tell us, Sirius. I'd certainly like to know."

Sirius looked uncomfortable. "Mnemosyne, you have to understand—he didn't want to do it."

"Bull," she said evenly. "Dumbledore never does something he doesn't want to do. I want answers. Or I can just go to the castle right now and wring them from his scrawny little neck!"

Sirius looked taken aback. He'd never encountered this furious side of Mnemosyne before, and he knew he didn't like it at all. "Mnemosyne, look, you know he didn't want you to tell Harry who you are in the first place. He only brought you here from safety in America so that you could watch him! But then you befriended him, and told him who you are, and it just—your death gave Dumbledore the perfect opportunity to erase you."

"But _why_?" she whispered, her features sad. "Does he really hate me that much?"

Sirius shrugged. "Look, Mnemosyne, I know that you're a good person, but you're too much like him. Dumbledore—he just couldn't deal with it. He knew that he shouldn't judge you based on your genes, but, I guess he just couldn't help it, and he didn't want Harry exposed to it. There's always been this thought with him that Harry was good and pure, and you were tainted. In his eyes, the only purpose you served was to protect Harry, and when you died, your purpose was fulfilled, so he saw no reason to torment Harry with memories of you as well as Cedric."

Mnemosyne sank back against the wall, tears filling her eyes. "I wish I could just go back to that point and save Harry without almost dying. Then I'd be at Hogwarts with him, protecting him from evil, and he could be a child, instead of an adult. He's been an adult for so long. I just wanted him to be able to have a chance at childhood. But Dumbledore took everything from me."

"Why don't you just take it back?" Remus asked tentatively. Mnemosyne had been staring off into space, but at Remus's words she snapped back to attention, and all traces of pain vanished from her face as she stood up.

"Because this is advantageous, despite everything. Too many people knew who I was. Now I have a chance to restore friendships, and gain allies."

"Is that really the way you want to form new friendships and repair old ones?" Sirius asked sharply. "On the basis of lies?"

She glared at him. "People judge me before getting to know me because of my heritage. For all my life, people have been making assumptions about me, based on what they know of my father, if I tell them who he is." She glanced to the side, a faraway look entering her eyes. "For all my life, I've been lying about who I am. If I don't, most people don't give me a chance. They either worship me, or try to kill me." She looked back to Sirius, her eyes hardening. "I would have thought that you of all people would understand that, Sirius. Do you know what would happen to me if the wizarding world knew who I was? They would destroy me. I doubt I'd last two days. Now, I'm sorry, but I'm damned tired of being judged for something I'm not."

"And what happens when you get tired of lying?" Remus asked softly. "What happens if you fall in love with someone and just never get around to telling them who you are, and they find out on their own? What then?"

"The only person I love is Skye," Mnemosyne snapped. "And she knows who I am."

"Skye's gone, J—Mnemosyne," Sirius snapped. "She thinks you're dead, and I don't see you rushing off to inform her differently."

"She—I'm needed here," Mnemosyne stumbled slightly over her words, and glowered at nothing in particular.

"So owl her!"

"Oh, yeah, that'll go down well," she said sarcastically. "I can see it now: 'Hey, Skye, just thought I'd drop you a line and tell you I'm not dead! How's your mom?'"

"Why are you acting like this?" Sirius exploded. "The last time I remember you acting so petulant you were fifteen!"

"Maybe I'm pissed that as soon as I'm out of the picture I get my place cut of it!" Mnemosyne snarled. "I thought that Harry would be worried about me, and I was so looking forward to seeing him! Now, the few people who happen to remember me think I'm dead, including the woman I love! And the man I trusted like a father betrayed me! How the hell would you be acting?"

"If you'll remember, I spent twelve years in prison for a crime I didn't do!" Sirius rose up, shouting at her. "My closest friend dies and I try to avenge his death, only to get sent to Azkaban for it! Everyone who loved me thought me a traitor. Do you know what that's like?"

"No," Mnemosyne replied quietly. "But do you know what it's like to have to lie to everyone you know for your own safety?"

They stared at each other for a few moments, and then Remus spoke. "We seem to have reached an impasse," he said quietly. "Mnemosyne, neither of us can possibly understand what it's like to endure the life you're forced to endure, and you can't understand our lives. But, Mnemosyne, try to keep in mind, I do understand what you're going through, at least partially."

She glanced at him in confusion, and then her face crumpled. "Oh, Remus," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I forgot."

He shrugged. "I don't care. I'm mostly just trying to stay out of this conversation."

Mnemosyne looked away, ashamed. "I should have done that too," she said softly. She shook her head, looking even more embarrassed. "I can't believe this is what I've been reduced to," she muttered, refusing to look up at the two Marauders. "I used to think I was so wise, and so brave. I used to think I could overcome anything. Now I'm weak of mind, of spirit, all because I encountered as silly a thing as _death_." She swallowed. "I always thought that when I was tested, I would embrace it with a light heart, an open mind, and a firm spirit. My body may be returned to its original state, but I am not. I should not have come here. I should…I should be recovering right now, fully."

"Mnemosyne…" Sirius began, but stopped.

"Yes?" she said quietly, finally looking back up at him.

"You're right. You should go recover. But tell Dumbledore you're alive first."

She blinked. "Yes, I suppose I should." She cast an eye back at them. "It was good to see you two again. I should…I should be going."

"Okay," Remus said. Sirius nodded. Mnemosyne hesitated, then spoke.

"Take care of Harry, will you?" Sirius and Remus nodded, and she disappeared out the doorway, down the stairs, through the front door, and out into the world beyond.

**A/N:** I considered adding more, but it seemed like a good place to end. As good as any, I guess. I'm beginning to get the feeling that no one's reading this story, which is rather disappointing, because I love it, but most people seem to be much more interested in "Love is Cruel". Anyway…reviews would be helpful in convincing me that this story isn't fruitless, so, yeah, if I don't get five reviews for this chapter, I'll take the hint and probably take it down. Adios!

-CatJetRat


	5. Back to Sanity

**A/N:** Well, this is the fifth chapter of "Shadow of the Past". I'm writing this before posting the fourth chapter, so, if y'all are seeing it, it means I got those five reviews that I needed as confirmation. Anyway, enjoy! Adios!

-CatJetRat

**Chapter 5**

**Back to Sanity**

**DH**

**Normal POV**

Harry dragged his trunk downstairs after making sure he had everything packed. He set it down and put Hedwig's cage on top of it, then leaned against a wall, waiting for Professor McGonagall to come pick him up.

"When are you leaving?" Harry gave a little jump at the voice, annoyance instantly flashing through his mind at the recognition of the drawling tone, before time caught up with his senses and he remembered that Malfoy was an ally. Harry glanced casually at Malfoy.

"Why?" he asked sardonically. "Got a hot date?"

Malfoy scowled. "No, I was just curious, Potter."

Harry rubbed his neck and sighed. It was incredibly difficult to not pick a fight with Malfoy, as he'd only had one truly civil conversation with Malfoy since their first one in Madam Malkin's before first year, and that one civil conversation had occurred yesterday. "In about fifteen minutes," he finally said, struggling to keep his tone fairly colloquial.

Malfoy nodded, and there was a slightly strained silence before Harry thought of something to say. "Also, Malfoy, you need to promise me you won't tell anyone about the Horcruxes. Not even Professor McGonagall. It's very important. I shouldn't have even told you. Dumbledore asked me to not tell anyone except for Ron and Hermione."

Malfoy smiled slightly. "Why did you tell me, then?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm not quite sure. I guess I just…I just figured that if I told you, even if you did decide to betray us, you wouldn't be able to remember anything you learned here."

Malfoy laughed, and though his laugh was a bit laconic, he didn't seem too insulted. "Thanks for the confidence, Potter."

"So will you not tell anyone?" Harry said.

Malfoy looked at him for a few moments, and then cocked his head to the side. "Harry Potter, I swear to you that I will not tell another soul what you have told me about Horcruxes, and what you plan to do. And I will aid you in whatever way I can to defeat Voldemort." He didn't even tremble at saying the name.

"Thanks." Harry felt relieved, though Malfoy's formal tone made him feel rather odd. "By the way, do you mind if I tell Ron and Hermione about you?"

Malfoy's head snapped up, and he looked startled, then thoughtful. "I'm not sure, Potter. We're trying to keep my continued existence fairly classified information. Do you think Weasley and Granger can keep this secret?"

Harry wasn't quite sure. He felt pretty certain Hermione could, and might be okay with it, but Ron was another story. Ron hated Malfoy with a passion, and had been thrilled when he thought Malfoy was dead. Harry wasn't sure how he'd react if Harry told him otherwise.

"I think Hermione will be okay," Harry muttered. "But we should probably leave Ron out of the loop for a while."

Malfoy's face was inscrutable when he asked, "Why?"

Harry shrugged, feeling rather uncomfortable. "It's—it's not that I don't trust him, it's just—"

"That you don't trust him," Malfoy concluded. Harry fell silent, and didn't know how to dispute this claim. Ron was very hotheaded, and tended to overreact. Harry would trust Ron with his life, but he would not trust him with Malfoy's.

"I'm just worried that he wouldn't be too happy about you being alive," Harry said. "He—well, he didn't seem too distraught when he thought you were dead."

Malfoy snorted. "Yeah, I doubt any of you were."

"I was," Harry said without thinking, and then slammed his mouth shut, feeling suddenly stupid.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You were," he stated flatly.

Harry raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Yeah, I dunno, I guess I thought you were too young to die."

"Oh." Malfoy pursed his lips, eyes locked on Harry's face. "Okay."

At that moment, there was a knock on the door, and Malfoy rushed to open it. "Professor McGonagall," he said courteously.

"Mr. Malfoy," she replied, and looked to Harry. "Mr. Potter, I trust you are ready?"

Harry nodded and picked up his things. He glanced at Malfoy, who gave him a curt nod, which he returned, and then left.

**Pre HBP**

Mnemosyne carefully walked through the village of Hogsmeade. People bustled about the streets, gossiping and giggling, happy that it was spring. Mnemosyne scowled. Didn't these fools realize that the Dark Lord had risen again? Didn't they care? The idiots should be preparing for the upcoming war, not laughing and playing!

Mnemosyne shook her head and hurried through the streets. It was mid-June, almost at the end of the school year. She had waited until then to speak with Dumbledore, as she wanted to catch him when he was the least busy. She was still very angry with him, but she recognized that she needed to inform him that she was alive before she went away to fully regroup. Then he could have some time to think on what needed to be done.

The wards surrounding Hogwarts wrapped around her, examined her, and let her pass, recognizing her for who she was, despite Dumbledore's spell. She hurried down the path towards the school, and stopped dead at the sight she saw. Three people were headed towards the Forbidden Forest, two of them students, walking ahead of a squat _something_ holding a wand on them. This was worth investigating. She wrapped herself in a spell of invisibility and followed them.

Her heart gave a jolt when she saw that it was Harry and Hermione. She didn't recognize the woman, though Mnemosyne doubted that the woman would be any friend of hers. Mnemosyne wavered in indecision. If she attacked the woman and freed Harry and Hermione, there would be questions, far, far too many questions, questions she couldn't answer right then. Mnemosyne decided to follow them to make sure Harry and Hermione would be all right.

What followed was a most bizarre turn of events. Weapon? Hidden in the Forbidden Forest? Half-breeds? Mnemosyne's sense of uneasiness increased as she followed them, and began to wonder just how much she had missed over the past year, and whether she ought not to have asked Sirius and Remus when she had the chance what exactly was going on at Hogwarts.

Mnemosyne almost revealed herself when the centaurs attacked, but stopped herself just in time as a strange giant came along, and seemed to think that Hermione's name was "Hermy". She watched apprehensively as the centaurs fired arrows at the giant, who eventually chased them off. She looked towards Harry and Hermione, who were now alone.

"Smart plan," Harry spat at Hermione. Mnemosyne frowned. "Really smart plan. Where do we go from here?"

"We need to get back up to the castle," Hermione said faintly.

"By the time we've done that, Sirius'll probably be dead!" Harry snarled, and kicked a tree.

Mnemosyne's eyes widened, and she was about to ask what he meant when Ron, Ginny, Neville, and an odd girl with protuberant eyes who looked to be about Ginny's age appeared. Mnemosyne looked back and forth between all of them as the launched into a conversation. She wasn't quite sure what was going on. When she'd left, Harry and Ron hadn't been speaking to each other and Neville and Ginny had been dating! But a lot could change in the course of a year, she mused, and watched contemplatively as they mounted thestrals and left for London. She considered following them, but decided that she really needed to speak to Dumbledore.

Mnemosyne hurried up the path to the school and slipped inside the door. She could hear people finishing up dinner in the next hall over. She shook her head, resisting the urge to look in on them, and rushed up the hall to Dumbledore's office. She took one look at it and saw that it was warded all over, to prevent anyone but Dumbledore entering the office. Her frown deepened. What was going on? She laid a hand against the gargoyle, murmuring a secret password Dumbledore had given her years before, in case of emergency.

"Onion rings," she whispered, and the gargoyle sprang to life and stood aside. She hurried up the revolving staircase, glad that the gargoyle had the sense to close quickly, and she knocked twice on Dumbledore's office before entering. There was no one there.

"What the hell!" she shouted, yanking at her hair helplessly. She turned to the portraits, who were watching her in some surprise.

"Are you a ghost?" one of them asked.

"You remember me?" she breathed, walking over to the wall. They all nodded.

"Dumbledore may have great power, but the founders made sure that the portraits in Hogwarts couldn't be affected by magic," said Phineas Nigellus.

Mnemosyne shook her head. "Was he here when he did it?"

The portraits nodded gravely. Armando Dippet sighed, and spoke. "Madam, you must understand that he was trying to protect Harry."

"I'm sure," she muttered coldly. "What happened?"

Dippet shrugged uncomfortably. "Harry Potter came in with Dumbledore, and Sirius Black was there. Potter was shaking uncontrollably, and whispering your name over and over again. Dumbledore stood up and asked to speak with Black. He then proceeded to tell Black that the best thing to do would be to erase Potter's memory of you, as well as everyone else. He said it would make it easier. He told Sirius that he could keep his memory, but everyone else would forget you. Then he cast the spell, and Potter became immediately less distraught. Then he told the tale of what happened in the graveyard, but he told it as if you never existed."

By the time Dippet finished, Mnemosyne was shaking with rage and confusion. "I don't get it," she hissed. "What good would erasing me do?"

The portraits shrugged. Mnemosyne shook her head. "Fine. Whatever. Can you all tell me what's happened this year? Obviously I missed a lot."

The portraits launched into an explanation, eager to talk about something else. She only stopped them a few times, and, when they finished, she was laughing. "Merlin, the Ministry is filled with such fools," she said, wiping a tear of mirth away. "Do you know where Dumbledore is now?"

They all shook their heads, and she shrugged. "Well, Dumbledore will come back eventually." She glanced out the window. It was now quite late. "I suppose I should—"

There was a crackle of energy in the air, and Mnemosyne knew that someone was about to appear from the use of a portkey. "Say nothing," she hissed at the portraits, before concealing herself again. The portraits immediately began to feign sleep.

Harry appeared in the office, looking much the worse for wear. Dumbledore appeared a few moments later, and she curled up on the floor, watching them speak, feeling an odd ache in her chest as she watched Harry begin to shout and scream in awful pain, destroying Dumbledore's belongings. Her heart gave a jolt when he said that Sirius was dead. She closed her eyes, and merely listened as Dumbledore finally revealed one of the prophecies to Harry. Harry eventually left, and she stood up, her legs shaking.

She walked silently over to stand in front of Dumbledore, who appeared entirely unaware of her presence. She removed her concealment charms, and watched as Dumbledore opened his eyes.

"What the—" Dumbledore jerked up, pulling out his wand, and she just watched him. "No," he whispered. "But—you're dead."

"Not quite as such," she said softly.

"How?" he asked weakly, sinking back into his chair. She shrugged.

"I'm not really sure. Voldemort's _Avada Kedavra_ hit me dead on. I barely survived, but I did survive. It took me months to gain my powers back." She touched the crystal around her neck. "This helped, but still…" She shook her head. "I'm not the same as I was. I was damaged, when the curse hit me. I'm more violent, angrier now. I went through the first of the trials, and…and I broke. When I found out you erased me…I was ready to kill you." Her voice shook. "I want so badly to be as I was, but I need time. I need a great deal of time to recover."

Dumbledore stood up. "You need to go," he said gently. "I—I am truly sorry for what has happened to you, but you should go. This is not the place for you right now."

She straightened, and gazed out the window, tears brimming her tired eyes. "Why did you do it, Dumbledore?" He did not ask what she meant.

"Because…I was weak. It was the same reason I did not tell Harry of the prophecy. Because I cared so much for his happiness."

"And what of my happiness?" Her voice was sharp, the weariness vanished from her face. "Has my happiness ever meant anything to you?"

"You were dead," Dumbledore snapped. "I didn't think you'd care."

"Did you ever think of what I would care about? Ever since Harry came to Hogwarts, you've done all you could to protect him and ensure he kept his innocence. Why did you never do the same with me?" she said angrily.

"Because you do not need to be innocent!" he shouted, leaning across his desk. "Indeed, I did all I could to make sure you would not be innocent. Your innocence could be your death sentence. Besides, you could never be truly innocent."

She recoiled as if Dumbledore had slapped her. "And why is that?" she whispered.

Dumbledore closed his eyes. "Because you are a part of him." His eyes opened.

"I'm _not_ him, Dumbledore!" she cried in anguish. "Why could you never see that?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes met her green ones. They did not twinkle in the way they did when he looked upon Harry. They never had. "Because I can see him in you."

"And can you not see her in me?" Her eyes began to drip with tears, but she made no sound. Dumbledore looked away, as if the sight of her tears was indecent.

"I never tried," he said softly. "You were born out of pain, and though she loved you, I could almost never bring myself to try and see her in you."

"You'd rather see a mass murderer," she said bitterly.

He looked back up at her, and pursed his lips. "I never could see anything else. You were a reminder of my mistakes. And you still are. It was nearly impossible for me to see a combination of that which I loved and that which I hated, morphed into one. You are…nothing I can understand. You have qualities of them both, but you are completely different. You are Light and Dark in one being. I just don't know you. So all I can see is him."

Mnemosyne laughed, an unpleasant laugh, the laugh of tainted innocence. "You chose a hell of a time to be honest with me," she said, her voice oddly disillusioned.

She turned from him and walked towards the door, her cloak of invisibility beginning to wrap her in shadows. She paused before the door, and did not turn to look at him when she spoke. "Perhaps one day you will see that I am not my father." With that, she disappeared down the stairs, leaving no trace of her presence.

**DH**

"Potter, I want you to tell me what it is you and Professor Dumbledore were doing the night he died."

Harry started, and stared at Professor McGonagall. They were stuck in traffic, and Harry had almost dozed off when she spoke.

"No," he said firmly.

"Potter," Professor McGonagall spoke in a tone of exasperation. "Professor Dumbledore is dead. I'm sure he would want you to tell me."

"I can't do that, Headmistress. Professor Dumbledore didn't want me to tell anyone except Ron and Hermione," Harry said, annoyed.

"And you haven't told anyone else?" Professor McGonagall's voice was sharp, and he felt a slight sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He didn't know how she could know, but Harry didn't feel much like lying to McGonagall.

"I-I told Draco Malfoy."

"WHAT?!" Professor McGonagall swerved and nearly drove the car off the road. She quickly straightened and parked in front of King's Cross Station. "You told _Draco Malfoy_, former Death Eater and son of Lucius Malfoy, You-Know-Who's _right-hand man_, but you won't tell me?"

Harry paused, brow furrowed. "Yes, well, Malfoy swore an oath of loyalty to the Order, and he also promised me he wouldn't tell anyone else. So I trust him."

"And you don't trust me?" Professor McGonagall looked insulted. "I've worked against You-Know-Who practically my entire life. Draco Malfoy just recently came to our side. You trust him more than me?"

"It's not that," Harry said softly. "But you see, Professor, Draco Malfoy says Voldemort's name."

With that, he got out of the car, dragging his trunk with him, leaving Professor McGonagall speechless behind him.

Harry cast a spell nonverbally, aiming his wand underneath his robes, and his trunk instantly became light as a feather. Harry pulled it along effortlessly, and moved towards to barrier separating Platforms 9 and 10. Harry began to walk quickly towards it, and was struck by the realization that this was the last time he would ever walk through it as a student. He closed his eyes briefly, and opened them just in time to see the wall approach. And then it was over and he was through and he was seeing the scarlet steam engine. He automatically looked around for Ron and Hermione before remembering that they would be in the Prefect's cabin. Hermione had been made Head Girl, so she'd definitely be there, and she'd probably be forcing Ron to go as well. Harry sighed slightly and boarded the train. He walked down the corridor until he found a compartment that housed Neville and Luna.

"Mind if I sit here?" Harry asked.

"Oh, sure, Harry," Neville said, smiling at him. Harry smiled back, and Luna greeted him dreamily.

Just as he had gotten settled, the compartment door slid open again. Harry looked up, almost expecting to see Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, ready to insult him, despite what he knew to be true. But it was just Ginny. "Hey, Harry," she said, smiling at him. He returned the smile, but couldn't help feeling a tad uncomfortable when she sat really close to him. Harry glanced up, looking for something else to focus on, and his eyes landed on Neville. What he saw made him feel rather strange. Neville was looking at Ginny with an odd, unfocused look on his face. With a jolt, Harry realized that Neville was looking at Ginny in the exact way Harry had looked at Ginny just a few months ago. A small smile curved his face, and he found that, for some reason he couldn't understand, he wanted Ginny to like Neville back.

"Um, Ginny, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to stretch out," Harry said, improvising.

"Oh, okay," she said, looking a little bit disappointed. She went over to sit next to Neville, who practically glowed. Harry suppressed a grin and lifted his legs out on the seat.

"So, Harry," Ginny began, not one to be daunted. "What did Professor McGonagall want to talk to you about?"

"I can't say," he said, shrugging

"Come on, Harry," Ginny said. "We're all allies here."

Harry frowned, feeling annoyance flickering in his chest. "I'm not going to tell you," he said emphatically.

"Why not?" she asked sullenly.

"Because it's none of your business!" Harry burst out. Ginny froze, staring at him. Neville looked angry, and Luna looked mildly surprised.

"I see," Ginny said icily.

"I'll go," he muttered, and grabbed his trunk. He left the compartment, feeling more cross with Ginny than with himself. He walked down the corridor, pausing when he saw a compartment that contained Seamus and Dean. He slid the door open.

"Hey, you mind if I sit here?" he said.

"Yeah, all right, Harry," Seamus said cheerfully. Dean gave him an awkward smile. Harry's return smile was only slightly less discomfited. They hadn't spoken since Harry started going out with Ginny, and Harry had always been under the impression that Dean thought Harry had stolen Ginny from him.

"So how was your summer, Harry?" Seamus asked him, giving a slight smile, as if he could sense the tension and was trying to ease it.

"It was okay, I guess," Harry said uncertainly. "Kind of weird. I almost didn't come back."

"Why?" Seamus said.

Harry, realizing his slip, scrambled to cover it. "Oh, you know, it just won't be the same without Dumbledore."

"I know what you mean," Seamus said. "Me mum didn't want me to come back even more this year, but I'm of age, so she couldn't really stop me."

"What about your parents, Dean?" Harry said to him, hoping to dissolve the tension between them with a good solvent. Dean shrugged.

"They noticed that some weird stuff's been going on, but they don't know about You-Know-Who, and I haven't told them. I'll just let them believe what they will. I mean, what they don't know can't hurt them, right?"

Harry nodded, and though he wasn't quite convinced that this was true, he didn't want to argue with Dean about it. His gaze landed on Seamus, whose sandy blond hair was streaked with highlights. Seamus' teeth were almost a blinding white when he grinned at Harry. "What's up, Harry?"

"Nothing," Harry said distantly as he noticed a peculiar feeling in his chest, like his heart skipped a beat. Harry stared at Seamus for a few more seconds, and then a curious look crossed his face, as if he was seeing Harry for the first time. Dean looked back and forth between them, and his eyes widened, but Harry barely noticed this, for a very unexpected sensation was roaming through his body as he looked into Seamus' blue eyes. His chest tightened, and he realized that he was holding his breath.

"Harry," Seamus said softly. "Are you—"

Then the compartment door flew open, and Ron and Hermione were there, Ron demanding to know what Harry had done to make Ginny cry, and Hermione was restraining him, but barely. Harry gave a fleeting look back to Seamus, who had a contemplative expression on his face. His gaze flicked to Dean, who looked vaguely disturbed, Ron, who he knew was distinctly unhappy with him, and Hermione, who was exasperated. A small smile stole over his face.

It was going to be a very interesting year.

**A/N:** I'm trying to keep little bits of information about the girl coming, just enough to satisfy my audience of three. Lol. Thanks to a (rather threatening) review from **caz-felton-malfoy**, I am continuing this story, despite lack of reviews. Anyway, hope y'all like it! Adios!

-CatJetRat


	6. Back to Normal, Sort Of

**A/N:** It's so odd. I used to have bundles to say before I started a new chapter. Now I just want to write the chapter. Lol. Enjoy! Adios!

-CatJetRat

**P.S.** I like Blonde! Pansy better than Brunette! Pansy. So she's blonde in my fic. With blue eyes.

**Chapter 6**

**Back to Normal, Sort Of**

**DH**

**Normal POV**

Harry slid into a seat next to Hermione at the Gryffindor table, Ron on her other side. Ron was still angry with Harry for shouting at Ginny, and Hermione was trying to bridge the fissure between them by making light conversation, but she was failing spectacularly. Harry focused on the Head table, feeling rather unnerved to see McGonagall in Dumbledore's seat. She met his gaze steadily, but her eyes faltered after a second and she looked away, slight anger blooming on her face. She wiped it away quickly, however, and stood up.

Silence fell, and all eyes turned towards her. Harry took a moment to glance around at the Great Hall. Over a quarter of the students hadn't come back, including Hannah Abbot, Susan Bones, Michael Corner, and some others. Ernie Macmillan was there, but he looked pale, and rather sleep-deprived. Several Slytherins were missing, including Crabbe and Goyle. Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were there as well, along with Pansy Parkinson, who was as pale as Ernie. She looked much thinner now, and her face had lost its pug-like appearance. Her blonde hair had grown, and was hanging around her face in casual curls. She was sitting up straight, a look of firm superiority set on her face. Harry grinned slightly, reminded of Malfoy. Hermione was looking at the Slytherin table too, a small frown creasing the skin on her forehead.

"I thought there'd be fewer of them," she whispered to Harry. "I thought all the children of Death Eaters weren't allowed to come back."

"You know you shouldn't believe everything the paper says," Harry muttered back, continuing to survey the Slytherin table. There were indeed fewer students, but he agreed with Hermione. There were a lot more students than made sense, considering the number of children of Death Eaters. McGonagall began to speak.

"And so begins another year at Hogwarts," she said, voice as sharp and clear as ever. Her eagle-eyed gaze swept over the students. "After…last year, many thought the school wouldn't reopen. Indeed, many students did not come back. But that is meaningless!" Her voice rose impressively, and Harry could see students sitting up straighter in their seats. "This year is not a joke, and we will not let you slack off on your schoolwork because classes will be smaller. In fact, the rise of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is even more cause to do well. It is likely that some, perhaps even most of you, will have to face him or his followers at some point. For some, it is more likely than others." Her eyes fell on Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Harry couldn't resist giving her a faint smile, which she returned. "I will not say that I know you or your families will be safe, or even that the school will not be attacked again. I do not know. But we must _fight_. Because without that, there is nothing. Some of you have already felt the sting of war, and doubtless more of you will in the future. We cannot give up. It's all we have left. So go to classes. Do well on your homework. Take pride in what you have, and what you can become. There is little else to do. Fight in your own way, but never stop fighting. That's why we're here. To fight. And I will do as Dumbledore would have done. I will continue to teach as long as just a single student wishes to learn. And in this way, I fight. In this way, I can help to defeat Voldemort."

She fell silent, and Harry's heart pounded with pride as he looked at her. She wasn't looking at him, but Harry saw her shoulders raise, and her head turned up with dignity. Whispers scuttled along the tables, but Harry ignored them and grinned. Perhaps she could make a leader yet.

McGonagall sat down, and the Sorting Hat was brought out. Harry turned to it attentively, apprehensively, as the rip near the brim opened, and it began to sing.

_Some have heard me sing a lot_

_For some it's the first time_

_But it matters not, what I've got_

_To say is of a different kind_

_Hard times lie ahead,_

_A new Headmistress has come_

_Some have already made their beds_

_Others have yet to decide on_

_Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff,_

_Gryffindor and Slytherin_

_Decisions, they can be tough_

_But this one's my mission_

_If you're intelligent, wise and good,_

_I'll lead you to Ravenclaw_

_You'll accomplish all you could_

_This many will applause_

_Those hardworking and kind_

_Will go to Hufflepuff,_

_And no oaths can you bind_

_Your friends will not be rough_

_While bravery and courage_

_Will sort you into Gryffindor_

_Beware some friends you could meet_

_They'll lead your enemies to your door_

_And lastly there is Slytherin_

_The House that many fear_

_But loyalty, cunning, and the bonds of kin_

_Make Slytherin a house to cheer_

_So I'll sort you true,_

_I'll sort you right_

_You can make friends anew_

_To keep you safe at night_

_But for others already here_

_Your friends may turn their backs_

_And enemies you used to fear_

_May embrace a new track_

_So enjoy yourselves in this night_

_Feast in the light the candles cast._

_Make this night turn ever bright_

_For it may well be your last._

Harry was frozen, staring at the hat. It had given them all advice before, but never like this. Professor McGonagall was staring at the hat in absolute shock, uncertain of how to deal with the situation. Tonks solved the problem for her and began to read names off of the list of first years to be sorted, but Harry paid her no mind. He glanced at Hermione, who was looking over at the Slytherin table, murmuring underneath her breath, "'Enemies you used to fear may embrace a new track'….What does that _mean_?"

Harry couldn't take it anymore. "Hermione, come with me," he muttered, grabbing her hand and rising. She looked up at him, startled.

"Harry—what?" she said, but he shook his head at her and she followed him. Ron half-rose in his chair, but Harry shook his head at him and continued out of the hall, McGonagall shooting him a scandalized look. Harry ignored her, and Ron, everyone, really, and continued to pull Hermione out of the hall. He yanked her into an abandoned classroom.

"Goodness, Harry, what's so important?" she asked, face flushed. Harry cast a quick silencing charm on the room, and, for good measure, cast _Muffliato_ as well. "Harry," Hermione said in a low voice, now looking much more worried, "What's going on?"

Harry sat on a desk, twiddling his fingers. "I hate to say this—but you can't tell Ron."

"Oh," Hermione's voice softened. "Oh, Harry, I understand. I was wondering when you'd tell me."

"You know?" Harry was flabbergasted. "How?"

"Well, I guess I'm just intuitive that way," she said, smiling.

"Huh?" Now Harry was really confused. "What are you talking about?"

"I—" Hermione faltered, and peered at his face. Whatever she saw there clearly didn't confirm whatever she thought he was talking about. "Nothing. Never mind. What do you have to tell me?"

Harry shook his head, not caring enough to try and figure out what exactly she was talking about. "It's about Draco Malfoy."

Now she looked _really_ confused. "What about him?"

"He—he's alive."

"What?" Hermione breathed. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah." With that, Harry began to tell Hermione all that had happened over the past two days. By the time he was finished, Hermione had to sit down to ride out the shock.

"Incredible," she murmured. "They must have used really advanced spells to fool everyone, especially the Healers."

"Yes, but you see why we can't tell Ron?" Harry continued on anxiously. Hermione looked at him in some surprise.

"Well, of course. I mean, much as I love Ron as a friend, I understand his limitations. We won't tell him unless it's absolutely necessary."

"Thanks," Harry said in relief. He chanced a peek out the door. "Damn, it looks like we missed the feast. Do you want to go down to the kitchens for some food?"

"Yeah, sure," Hermione said absently, and Harry grinned, glad to be spared any tiresome house-elf ranting. They emerged from the classroom, blending with the other students, before slipping away to the kitchens. Behind them, someone emerged from the Great Hall with the others, his blue eyes glowing with jealously as he watched them steal away.

**Pre-HBP**

Mnemosyne flew away from Hogwarts as fast as she could, needing to get to Remus as quickly as possible. She landed inside Grimmauld Place with a thump.

"Remus!" she shouted, hurrying up the stairs. "Remus, where are—" She paused at the first door she reached, spotting Remus curled up in a soggy ball on the bed.

"Oh, hello, Mnemosyne," he mumbled. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Remus," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "Oh, Merlin, Remus, I am so sorry." She walked over to the bed, laying a heavy hand on his shoulder. "I can't even—"

"He fell through the veil," Remus interrupted. Mnemosyne stopped dead. "Bellatrix Lestrange hit him with a special kind of stunning spell, one which works just like the regular one but emits green light as does _Avada Kedavra_. She knows what the veil is. She wanted him to fall through it, but wanted everyone to think he was dead so none of us would go after him. She was hoping to break Harry so he'd give her the prophecy."

Mnemosyne stared at the wrinkles on Remus' face, only in his late thirties, yet with the appearance of an old man. "I have to go, Remus," she said softly, and rose up. He grabbed her arm.

"Wait, Mnemosyne, what are you doing?"

She shook her hair out of her face and looked down at him. "I'm going after Sirius, of course," she replied, as if this answer should be obvious.

"No, you're not," he said, voice shaking. "You can't possibly think—no. You'll die."

"I think you forget who you're dealing with," she said with a faint smile. "I'll be back, with Sirius. That much I can guarantee you. Goodbye."

Before he could protest any further, she vanished, leaving him to stare at thin air. "Good luck," he said to the empty room.

Mnemosyne appeared in the circular room in the Department of Mysteries, its fiery blue light surrounding her. "Take me to the veil," she told the room, and one of the doors opened, mystical energies pulling her towards the entranceway. She emerged into what looked like an old courtroom. The place was empty, but held the air of a recent battlefield. Eerily quiet. She moved towards the veil, fluttering lightly as though in a wind. She reached out and touched it with the tips of her fingers. The veil reacted violently to her touch, fluttering harder. Mnemosyne took a deep breath and pushed the veil aside, stepping through.

**DH**

It wasn't until three weeks after term started that Ron confronted Harry. Things had been going normally enough, though Harry was spending more and more time with Hermione, ordering books and researching Horcruxes. Ron didn't contribute much other than complaints, so Harry took to researching with Hermione alone. She also helped him compose his letters to Malfoy, which were strained at best. The first one went like this:

_M-_

_Term just started and there are fewer students than usual. Only about three-fourths of the student population returned, and many of the people missing are from Slytherin. A lot of your friends returned though, all of them except Crabbe and Goyle. Do you know why?_

_I told Hermione about you, but not Ron, as per your recommendation. She's actually helping me compose this letter. I think she's rather pleased you're alive. She says that you were the only one who ever challenged her in every one of her classes._

_Have you been able to discover anything new about Horcruxes? Hermione and I are searching, but we don't have nearly enough resources. I'm almost considering asking McGonagall to lend a hand._

_By the way, how are you doing the spell which lets your letters come to me if you're alone?_

_Let me know how you're doing._

_-H_

Hermione had criticized him for this letter, protesting that he didn't even bother to write out Malfoy's full name or his own, but he ignored her on this point and sent the letter anyway. What he received back went something like this:

_P-_

_Since you insist upon abbreviating our names, I suppose I'll do the same. Now, your questions. How on earth should I know why there are a lot of my friends there? It's not like I continue to write them. _You_ might get letters from dead people a lot, but I rather think my friends would be a bit surprised to hear from me. _

_As for the Horcruxes, I have in fact been able to discover a few things. One, they're quite easy to destroy. Just use _Avada Kedavra_ and they're done for. The thing that makes Horcruxes so hard to destroy is that they're usually very well-hidden and protected._

_Two, a Horcrux contains half of whatever soul a wizard has left. So, if a wizard has a full soul when he creates a Horcrux, then the amount of soul in that Horcrux would be larger than the amount of soul in, say, his fifth or sixth Horcrux. That's all I've managed to discover so far, but I'll continue to look. _

_Next question…I got a cat. McGonagall brought her for me a couple of hours after she dropped you off on the train. She's a pretty calico, only three months old. She provides much entertainment, but has unpredictable hours. She likes to keep me awake at night. Any suggestions on a name? I let her look at the letter, and that works just as well. She's part Kneazle, so she's quite intelligent._

_I'm doing fine, thanks for asking._

_-D_

It wasn't quite as strained as it could have been, but Harry still felt uncomfortable with the entire thing. Maybe it was his imagination.

What Harry hadn't counted on was Ron's growing resentment. Ron had noticed how much time Hermione and Harry had been spending together, and was feeling neglected. Harry knew that he was doing so, but what with impending N.E.W.Ts, the Horcrux search, writing to Draco Malfoy, and Quidditch, Harry didn't have much time to worry about it. Apparently this was a mistake.

"We need to talk, Harry," Ron said, as they were heading down to breakfast in the Great Hall, and, before Harry could reply, Ron was pulling him into the same abandoned classroom Harry had spoken to Hermione in only a few weeks earlier.

"Er, okay," Harry said, cringing at his tone. "What's up?"

Ron had begun to pace in front of him, but at Harry's words, he stopped. "Do you have something you'd like to tell me about you and Hermione?" he asked in a soft, angry voice.

Harry frowned, dumbstruck. "Huh?" was all he managed to get out.

"You've been hanging out with her a lot, going away to very long _study sessions_," Ron spat. "Do you think I'm stupid? I know what's going on with you two."

"What?" Harry said blankly, staring at Ron in frank confusion.

"Look, I figured it out yesterday, you know, when I finally got up the courage to ask her out and she turned me down. I know, Harry. You don't have to hide it anymore, but I still can't believe you'd do that to me! You know how I feel about her!" Ron was shouting now, his face redder than Harry had ever seen it.

"Whoa, wait, back up!" Harry said, moving away from Ron a couple of steps. "If you think we're—Merlin, Ron, no, I've never even thought about Hermione in that way. I swear to you we're just friends."

"Then why did you pull her out of the Great Hall at the Opening Feast?" Ron shot.

"That's…personal, Ron," Harry said, recalling a conversation he'd had with another nosy Weasley only a few weeks before. Ron bristled.

"I see. Fine, mate, you do what you want, but don't expect me to stick around and watch while you steal Hermione from me." With that, Ron strode out of the abandoned classroom. Harry leaned against a desk, covering his face with his hands, wondering what he had done to screw things up so badly.

Hermione walked down the steps of the Hogwarts entranceway, hoping to find a bit of peace and quiet. Harry and Ron had been ignoring each other all day, and, while this was quiet, the strained silence had been enough to drive her mad. Finally she just left in disgust, looking for a better place to study. She walked over by the greenhouses, looking at the plants through the grimy windows.

She'd been walking for about ten minutes when she heard the commotion. It sounded like a fight was breaking out. She sighed, pinning her Head Girl badge to her robes and pulling her wand out, before walking over. A few feet into the Forbidden Forest, and she saw the backs of three boys, who were taunting a girl. She recognized them as sixth-year troublemakers from Ravenclaw. She couldn't see who the were accosting, but she could hear what they were saying.

"Come on, you Slytherin whore. Scream for us. Or do they teach you not to in Death Eater camp?" one boy sneered. Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"I heard that all the girl Death Eaters do is put out for You-Know-Who, because that's all they're good for," another chortled.

"Do you do that?" the last one said condescendingly. "I bet you do, those melons on your chest are all that you have going for you—"

"Enough!" Hermione shouted, hexing the closest one. The other two turned around.

"Why, Granger," a boy with greasy, dyed purple hair beamed at her acerbically. "Your opinion would be much appreciated. How many Slytherin whores does it take to cast a spell?"

Two seconds later, all three of them were unconscious. Hermione walked cautiously over to the girl lying on the ground, blonde hair covering her face. "Are you okay?" she asked softly, reaching out a hand, only to have it viciously slapped away.

"Get the bloody hell away from me, Granger," Pansy Parkinson snarled, pulling herself up and brushing off the front of her robes. "I could have dealt with those pricks myself just fine. No need to come to my rescue."

Hermione ignored her. She had gotten quite good at doing so over the years. "Why didn't you scream for help?" she asked curiously. "Why didn't you stop them?"

"What the hell is this, an interview process?" Pansy snapped. "I told you, I was fine."

"You were not _fine_," Hermione replied, temper flaring. "They had you on the ground. Merlin knows what they would have done to you—"

"Yes, and I'm so endlessly grateful," Pansy sneered. "However can I repay my debt to you?"

"You know what, fine! Whatever," Hermione said angrily, and turned to go.

She had only gone ten steps before Pansy called out to her, walking up to stand beside her. "Why in Merlin's name do you care anyway?" Pansy asked her. "Hell, you probably agree with what they were saying."

"Are you a Death Eater?" Hermione asked coolly. Pansy cursed underneath her breath and pulled up the sleeve of her left arm. There was no Dark Mark. Hermione nodded. "Then you don't deserve to be treated that way." Hermione turned and left Pansy speechless behind her.

**Pre-HBP**

Mnemosyne carefully observed the pressing darkness surrounding her. She looked back, but the veil was gone. Big surprise. She walked forward warily, but managed to step into an abyss and fall anyway. She cried out when she landed on the hard ground, but nothing appeared to be too badly hurt, and so she rose to her feet, healing charms spreading throughout her body. Dim light began to filter through to where she was standing. She looked around. She appeared to be in a field of some sort. Wind washed across her face like warm breath; despite this, she shivered.

"Why have you come here?" A man appeared, leaning against a tree she hadn't noticed before. His face was pale, eyes black as the sky above, with features too pointed to be called attractive. He was dressed in a black, ratty-looking suit. The edges of the sleeves were frayed, the white shirt beneath his coat not so white, but a yellow color. His hair was black and slicked back, his shoes old and unpolished. He was a fairly unremarkable looking person, except for one thing. His tie. His tie was the blackest black she had ever seen, and didn't appear to reflect light, much like a black hole. But there were scenes playing across his tie in a bright red color, scenes of the most horrific parts of humanity. Children being tortured, animals strung up by little boys for fun, daughters and sons being raped by their fathers and mothers, death and torture playing across the tie in scenes that at once seemed so fast she could barely focus on one, but when she did, felt as if they were infinitely slow, almost as if she was taking part in them, feeling the terrible pain of the child being tortured, and the insane pleasure of the person doing it. Mnemosyne tore her eyes away from the tie, and the man nodded appreciatively.

"Ah, good, you're worth my time," he said. "Most people get lost in the images, and find themselves wanting to stay and glory in the evil and the pain." He chuckled. "Everyone has evil inside of them, only most refuse to acknowledge them. The tie shows people the evil they most desire. Many get so lost in the realization of that which they deny themselves. They want to stay, and I let them. Everyone has them. You saw your pleasure, I suppose?"

Mnemosyne struggled not to allow her temper to show. She hated every part of herself that was her father, and knew that she shared his love of pain, and spent every day fighting it. She decided to be honest with the man, or…thing.

"Yes, I did," she said. "But I'm a bit more honest with myself than most people are. I already recognized my evils, and I can move past them. Most people refuse to do even that."

He laughed, a chilling laugh that went straight to her bones. This man was pure evil. Most people would have said Voldemort was pure evil, but they were wrong. He was just hungry for power, and chose to get it through evil means, because it was easier. Her father was weak, and lazy. This man was just _evil_. He didn't care about money, power, fame or glory. Those were just side effects of his cruelty. He was all that evil could be in the world, gathered into one being.

"Now, why are you here?" he asked, after his laughter subsided. "There must be a reason one such as yourself would (move) willingly (move) beyond the veil."

"I came for Sirius Black," she said soundly.

"I see," he murmured. "Very well. I will give him to you, but for a price."

"Which is?" she asked.

"Do you agree to give it to me?" he replied.

"Not until I know what it is," Mnemosyne said grimly.

He examined her for a few moments, and Mnemosyne couldn't shake the feeling that she was being looked over in much the same way that a butcher might look over a cow, to see if it was ready for slaughter.

"You will indulge in your most desired, evil pleasures for one year. Then I will give him back to you, and you both may leave."

Her breath hitched, and she hesitated. There was no telling what might happen to her if she did that. She might emerge from it just like her father. "What—what would happen to Sirius during that time?" The man shrugged.

"Nothing. He would go into a kind of comatose state. We would return him to the world in the same state we received him in, except he would be conscious. He wouldn't have any memory of what happened," the man responded.

"And my "evil pleasures". Would they actually be happening to real people, or just imaginary ones?"

He sighed. "I was so hoping you wouldn't catch that. Fine. They'd be imaginary people. It would not affect another soul, or another living being. Essentially, it would just be for your eyes and mine only."

She chewed on her lip. There was nothing for it. She couldn't leave Sirius down there to be tormented for all of eternity. "Very well," she said softly. "I agree to your terms."

"Wonderful," he smiled at her, fangs flashing in the dim light. He clapped his hands, and she blinked.

She was in an empty, stone room, Dumbledore lying naked on a table, tied there. He was looking at her with horrified eyes. She shuddered violently at the sight of a large knife in her hand, and slid her eyes shut, not certain at all that she could do it. But…Sirius was counting on her, and, after all, these people weren't real. It would just be her suffering.

She opened her eyes again, and moved towards the granite table, and Dumbledore, her grip on the knife tightening.

**A/N: **I can't believe I wrote an entire chapter in one night. Whew! That took a lot out of me, lol. And man, that chapter was a lot more angsty than I intended it to be. Hopefully it was decent, in spite of the millions of pounds of angst. Oh, yeah, any thoughts on Draco's kitten's name? And if anyone says "Crookshanks Jr.", so help me….Review! Adios!

-CatJetRat


	7. Respect

**A/N:** Well, after last chapter, hopefully I can insert some happiness into this one. I guess it never occurred to me how dark this fic could turn out to be. But don't worry! The ending will be mostly happy, lol. Adios!

-CatJetRat

**Chapter 7**

**Respect**

**DH**

**Normal POV**

"You know," Hermione said thoughtfully, looking up from _Hogwarts, A History_, scanning it for clues as to the Founder's possessions, "The House system at Hogwarts is, in all honesty, a terrible idea."

"Huh?" Harry said, tearing his eyes away from _Dark Arts Through the Ages_.

"Well, just think about it," she said, snapping her book shut and leaning across the table, her eyes lit up. "Humans, by nature, divide themselves into groups and factions. In American schools, people call them 'cliques'. Essentially what the House system at Hogwarts does is it divides us for us. And then we further divide ourselves in our House, by year, or some other factor. And, to further aggravate this division that already often destroys chances to be friends with someone, the school system has created House rivalries through little games, such as Quidditch, or the House Cup. Remember when Ginny broke up with Michael Corner because he was sore that his House lost at Quidditch?" She didn't wait for a reply, but rushed on. "And then, of course, there's the teachers."

"What about the teachers?" Harry asked, now slightly interested.

"Four of them are appointed to be Heads of Houses. And the Heads usually favor their own House, which often leads to students from other Houses resenting that teacher, and therefore that subject. Like you with Potions."

"I think that had a little more to do with Snape hating my guts," Harry replied darkly, looking back down at his text.

"But don't you see?" Hermione said imploringly, grabbing his wrist so he'd look back up at her. "The House system is one of the worst flaws at Hogwarts."

"Yeah, I suppose I see what you're saying," Harry shrugged. "But…try to imagine Hogwarts without Houses. There would be no way to punish students for wrong-doing other than detention and expulsion. Not to mention no competitive Quidditch. And what, would all the students share a dormitory? I don't imagine I would have felt too safe sharing a dormitory with Malfoy. And what, would you like to share a room with Pansy Parkinson?"

Hermione released his arm, looking rather disgruntled. "I suppose not. But there are better ways."

"I'm sure there are," Harry said, slightly amused. "You have fun finding them." He shut his book and stood up with a yawn and a stretch, rubbing his eyes. "I'm going to turn in. You coming up to Gryffindor?"

"In a little bit," Hermione said, a brooding frown on her face.

"All right. G'night."

"Night," she said, flipping the pages of her book.

Harry shook his head, grinning, and headed towards the library door. He opened it, and promptly ran smack-dab into Seamus.

"Oh, hi Harry," Seamus laughed, rubbing his chest where Harry had bumped into him. "Sorry, mate, I was about to return a book." He held up the book he was holding and then dropped it into the return slot. "Walk you back up to Gryffindor?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry said.

"So…" Seamus began as they were walking up the marble staircase. "What's up with you and Ron?"

Harry's head snapped around. "What do you mean?"

A soft laugh escaped Seamus. "Come on, Harry. Everyone knows that the two of you are best friends, and yet you haven't been speaking to each other for weeks."

"Is it that obvious?" Harry muttered, embarrassed.

Seamus shrugged. "If Dean and I stopped talking, would you notice?"

Harry nodded. "Probably."

"That's what it's like. I don't know how much anyone else notices, but we all share a dorm. Changes in behavior don't go unnoticed, especially drastic changes, like that. We all knew why Ron wasn't speaking to you in fourth year, because of the Triwizard Tournament, but now it's just confusing." Seamus looked at Harry rather expectantly.

"It's stupid," Harry said. "Ron thinks that Hermione and I have something going on."

Seamus stopped dead. "What?!" he exclaimed. "Is he blind?"

"Er…I guess," Harry stammered, a bit confused.

"Oh, well, I just meant, it's obvious that the two of you are just friends," Seamus added hastily, stumbling slightly over his words.

"Okay," Harry said, still a bit bemused, but for some reason quite unwilling to try and find out more. They reached the Fat Lady. "Fruit fly," Harry said, and the portrait swung open. The common room was nearly empty, except for Ron, who was sitting in an armchair over by the fire, doing homework. He stiffened almost imperceptibly when Seamus and Harry came in, but otherwise gave no sign that he noticed them. Seamus rolled his eyes and hurried up the stairs. Harry hesitated.

"Ron," he began.

"Don't," Ron said shortly. "Just…don't, Harry." He began to gather up his things.

"Look, there's nothing going on between Hermione and me!" Harry cried desperately. "Why won't you believe that?"

Ron froze, hands clenched over _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Seven_. "That's not the point, Harry," he said in a quiet voice. "Even if the two of you aren't dating each other…you spend all your time together. You've almost completely cut me out. There's something you aren't telling me, probably whatever it is McGonagall told you when she took you to Grimmauld Place, but I know Hermione knows!" Ron looked up, and his eyes were shining with a hurt that made Harry's stomach cramp. "At the end of the summer, we were all in this together. Then you left, and it's like you came back an entirely different person! You yell at Ginny, who you were madly in love with just a few months before, you pull Hermione out of the Great Hall during Sorting to talk to her about something I'm not allowed to hear, and on top of that you practically ignore me every day! What the hell is going on, Harry?"

Harry faltered. Though he hated to admit it, Ron was right. Harry _had_ changed, though he couldn't figure out how or why. But Ron was wrong about one thing—it _hadn't_ just started happening. It had been going on since the beginning of the summer, and had seemed to intensify the more he realized that he and Ginny would probably never get back together. He felt…careless. Reckless. He was fired up, getting ready to face Voldemort once and for all, and yet he was back where he started. At Hogwarts, researching with Hermione. It all felt so…pointless, and Harry couldn't remember why he'd agreed to come back to the place.

"You're right," he agreed. "I _have_ changed. But so has Hermione. The only problem is that you haven't as much! What few changes have occurred have been for the worse! Like the way you treated Hermione last year. You knew she liked you, and yet you snogged Lavender Brown in front of her! When you were nervous about Quidditch, you mistreated the rest of the team. When you didn't want to date Lavender anymore, you were too much of a coward to break up with her yourself. Ron, you're just…I dunno. I'm sorry if I'm acting like I can't trust you, but the fact is that I can't! You just haven't given me too many reasons _to_ trust you lately."

Harry fell silent, staring at Ron helplessly. Ron's back had gone rigid, and his ears were bright red. He looked on the verge of explosion, but then, just as quickly, all his anger seemed to fade, and his face grew quite blank.

"Goodbye, Harry," he said quietly, and gathered up the last of his books. He tried to walk past Harry, but Harry grabbed his arm.

"'Goodbye'?" Harry repeated in astonishment. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you can find your bloody Horcruxes on your own!" Ron snarled, ripping his arm away from Harry's hand. His books spilled out of his arms. "I don't give a damn anymore. You can't respect me enough to trust me? Fine. Trust Hermione. Trust Seamus. Trust Lucius Malfoy for all I care! Leave me out of it!"

"Ron—that isn't what I meant!" Harry said anxiously.

"What did you mean, then?!" Ron bellowed.

"I just meant I want you to be a little bit nicer, you know, give me more reasons to trust you!"

"Will this do?" Ron whipped out his wand, pointing it at himself. "I'll _Obliviate_ myself so that I have no memory of anything you've ever told me. That way, I won't relay it to Voldemort at the Death Eater meetings I attend so frequently!"

"Ron—" Harry said wonderingly.

"And then maybe I'll end up like Lockhart! Or, better yet, I'll think I'm eleven again and be like that! I'm sure you'd like—"

"Ron!" Harry exclaimed.

"What?" Ron snapped.

"You—you said Voldemort's name."

"I—I did?" Ron asked uncertainly.

Harry nodded quickly. "You did."

"Oh," Ron looked down. "I guess I did say…Vol-Voldemort."

Harry smiled. "That's a damn good reason to trust you, _and_ respect you."

Ron shrugged. "Why?" he asked, almost inaudibly.

"Because if you don't fear his name, you must not fear him as much," Harry said.

Ron grinned. "I'm not as afraid of him as I used to be, am I?"

"No, you're not." Harry grinned broadly. "All right. Sit down. You're going to want to be sitting down for this."

After casting _Muffliato_ and placing a silencing charm around where they were sitting, Harry told Ron all about the continued existence of Draco Malfoy.

**HBP**

It took her eight months and twenty-three days to crack. She wasn't entirely sure what was so special about the twenty-third day of the eighth month. Perhaps it was the fact that she had stopped sleeping about ten days before, and stopped eating two days after that. Perhaps it was the sight of her own, tortured body lying on the cold stone slab again. For lately, she was the only person she wanted to torment. Herself.

"Please don't make me do it anymore!" Mnemosyne cried out, sinking to the ground and clutching at her heart. "Please! There must be an alternative price!" Her face was gaunt, the skin underneath her eyes slowly turning gray, now wet with the tears pouring down her face onto the cold stone below.

"Hmm. I didn't think you'd last this long."

Mnemosyne looked up. The person who'd spoken had not been the evil man of before. Now it was a woman. This woman, like the man, was rather unremarkable, with short, drab brown hair, a slightly overweight appearance in gray sweatpants, and expressionless eyes. But it was her chest which fascinated Mnemosyne the most. She was topless, but instead of showing her bosom, faces and situations played across what appeared to be empty air. There was absolutely nothing to connect this woman's head, shoulders, and arms, to her waist. Mnemosyne focused on them, and images appeared. Images of Skye, laughing as Mnemosyne sprayed her with a water hose. Skye, moving shyly towards Mnemosyne the first time they kissed, and Skye, curled up in a ball against Mnemosyne's body the morning after the night they made love.

Mnemosyne cried out, reaching towards, the pictures. Of all those people Mnemosyne had seen and tormented as her darkest fantasies, even fleeting ones she didn't remember having, were played out, the one person she hadn't seen was Skye, because all she'd ever felt towards Skye was love and affection. Skye had been the one person she would never dream of harming. Mnemosyne paused, her hand halfway to the images. But this couldn't be real. Skye was back in America. Skye thought she was dead. For all Mnemosyne knew, Skye might be dead as well.

Mnemosyne's hand dropped limply back to her side as she wrenched her gaze away from the tempting images.

"Well, it seems that my counterpart was correct. You are worth my time after all," the woman said, voice colorless.

Mnemosyne couldn't even summon the energy to form a scathing, sarcastic reply. When she spoke, her voice was heavy, as if every word she forced out drained all the strength from her limbs. "Please. Let me pay another price."

"Come here," the woman said softly, after a moment.

Mnemosyne dragged herself to her feet and began to walk the few meters towards the woman. Every step she took was an effort; it was like trying to walk through half-hardened cement. Each time she inhaled, the breath she took felt like the breath she'd just let out. Finally she reached the woman

"Look at me," Evil's counterpart said.

Mnemosyne moved her gaze up to meet the woman's, eyes dragging past her chest. She almost stepped back when their gazes met, but managed to hold firm. Mnemosyne had been wrong, there _was_ something remarkable about this woman's eyes. They were exactly like Evil's tie. She grabbed the front of Mnemosyne's robes, choking her.

"You want to know the amusing part?" she hissed, voice no longer prosaic. "His pitiful little soul was only worth a month of your time." She threw Mnemosyne backwards, and Mnemosyne saw the veil come into view. "We shall return him to you in three months, seven days. The time when your payment would have ended."

"What will you do to him?" Mnemosyne asked shakily, standing up. Evil's counterpart glared at her.

"Nothing, unfortunately we can't touch him due to your extra payment. But we also cannot release him until your time is up. Go, and he shall be returned to you in three months, seven days. GO!" On this last word, Mnemosyne was thrown violently from the veil and into the courtroom. Panting hard, she looked around and let out a shaky sob of relief. She was back. Even the air smelled better. Shaking her hair from her eyes, Mnemosyne Apparated to Hogsmeade.

She appeared on the road leading from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts. She wrapped herself in a cloud of invisibility and walked quickly down the road, determined to tell Dumbledore what had happened. Mnemosyne went through the gates and sped up, then, almost as quickly, began to slow down, until she came to a full stop, staring at the Forbidden Forest. The trees were stirring, and whispering to each other. Then they called out to her. She turned away from the castle gates and seemed to float, dreamlike, down to the forest. She paused before entering it, and then emerged into the cool comfort of the trees.

Wind flew around Mnemosyne, bringing up leaves and pulling her deeper into the forest, a welcoming hug. Her eyes lit up as she came upon a stream. She knelt down beside it, and immediately the water began to rush faster, as if eager for her. She dropped her shielded form.

A crackle of leaves brought her harshly back to reality and she whipped around, wand out. It was a centaur. As Mnemosyne watched, more and more centaurs joined him, until she was surrounded. She observed their hard faces idly as they raised their crossbows at her, arrows notched in them.

"Human," one of them said harshly, the anger in his face mirrored in those around him. "You should not be here, in our forest, beside the protected stream!"

"Magorian," she said in a light, almost teasing tone. "I'm surprised that you allowed the magic of humans to affect you. I thought centaurs were above that."

"We are!" Bane said hotly.

"Yet you do not remember me," she said, amused. "I can't believe you'd allow a measly little human's memory charm to affect you so greatly. I will have to hold it against you, Magorian."

Magorian lowered his bow slightly, confusion, but also a frank amount of suspicion, evident in his face. "What are you talking about, human?"

Mnemosyne gave a long-suffering sigh, and waved her hand, instantly returning all of their memories. They staggered on their hooves, and several of them accidentally let go of their crossbows. Magorian was the first to recover. He turned a sharp eye on her, new understanding reflected there, before lowering himself to the ground, bowing his head.

"Forgive me, my Lady," he said respectfully. "I did not know."

"I understand," she said gently, as, one by one, the other centaurs knelt before her as well. She reached out and lifted up his chin, until she was staring straight into his deep blue eyes. "Are you still my ally?"

He rose up, gripping his bow tighter. "I am, my Lady. I am sorry that we forgot you, I truly am." His face hardened. "It was that fool Dumbledore. The one who coerced Firenze into coming up to his school to betray our secrets to humans."

Mnemosyne's face hardened. "Yes, I must say, I found that rather disconcerting. But I must leave. I have much to tell Dumbledore." She stood up, and Magorian looked rather startled.

"Oh, are you leaving already?" he said sadly. "I wish we could speak more."

Mnemosyne shook her head. "We have a war to fight, Magorian. I have little time right now. I will speak with you when I can. Wait—" She paused in the act of turning towards the castle. "What day is it?"

"March 1st, my Lady," Bane spoke up.

"Thank you," she said, bowing to them. "I shall meet some of you again. Farewell."

Ten minutes later, again wrapped in invisibility, Mnemosyne was striding through the halls of Hogwarts, avoiding the students, fear making her hurry. Merlin only knew what had gone on in her absence….

**DH**

Hermione shifted restlessly in her seat, watching Harry and Ron gossip. While she had been pleased to hear that they were friends again, now, again, they were ignoring her in favor of each other. It was true that she was no longer interested in Ron, but still, she thought irritably, that was no reason for them to no remain friends.

Relief coursed through her as the bell rang, and she quickly gathered up her things, rushing from the Potions classroom. A few hours away from the two of them…that was all she needed.

Hermione sought refuge in the library. Madam Pince smiled at her, and she smiled back. Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that she was the only student Madam Pince ever smiled at, and only when she was alone. Hermione slipped through the maze of shelves, looking for her favorite spot, a table hidden. Truly, this was what a library _should_ be, she thought justly. At her Muggle school there had hardly been any shelves at all, side from the ones lining the walls. It would be impossible to lose yourself in there. Here…here she could create hundreds of worlds, and get lost a million times over and still not uncover all of the library's secrets.

As she neared her hidden table, she thought she could hear someone cursing quietly and giving little sighs of pain. Worried, she quickened her pace, while trying to stay as silent as possible. Carefully, she peeked around the corner.

Pansy Parkinson was curled up in Hermione's favorite chair, wincing and trying to reverse a Stinging Hex which someone had managed to make stay on her and continue to sting her. Every few moments she winced as a new welt popped up from a sting. However, all of her efforts to reverse the damage only seemed to make it worse. Hermione suspected that whoever had cast the curse had made it so that Pansy could not remove the curse herself. Hermione watched a bit longer, and, after a moment, realized that they were spelling the words "Stupid Death Eater" on her arm.

_Finite_. Hermione cast a nonverbal spell, and the welts stopped coming. Pansy paused, as if unable to believe that they'd stopped, and then set about trying to heal the weal's that were already there. They worsened as she did that, and Hermione cast another nonverbal healing spell. They vanished, and Pansy seemed relieved, though she didn't appear to notice that someone else had helped her.

She ran her hand through her blonde curls, and let out a little moan as her hair began to fall out. Hermione, unable to deal with the pity she felt swelling in her chest for Pansy, cast a nonverbal hair regrowth spell. Unfortunately, Pansy noticed this one.

"Who's there?" she asked sharply, drawing her wand. "I'm telling you, I've had enough of being hexed!"

"It's just me!" Hermione exclaimed, raising her hands and stepping out from behind the bookshelf. Pansy's eyes lit up with fury.

"Granger! What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

Hermione shrugged uncomfortably. "I just wanted some peace and quiet. I saw you were having a bit of trouble and decided to help."

"Well I don't need your goddamned help, Granger! It's none of your stinking business what happens in my life!" Pansy shouted.

"Look, I know you don't, I just thought—"

"What?" Pansy spat. "What did you _think_? That you could solve all of my problems with your big brains and your bushy hair? That the evil Slytherin would bow down before your genius and repent from her sins? I'm _not_ evil, I'm not a Death Eater, and I'm not weak!" Her cheeks were flushed; she looked absolutely livid.

But…underneath that was an emotion Hermione never thought she'd see within Pansy. It was fear. Pansy was afraid. And it was in that single moment of understanding that one fact that Hermione grasped them all. Pansy was not a Death Eater. Pansy's family did not consist of Death Eaters. But Pansy was assumed to be so because she was a Slytherin and had been friends with Draco Malfoy. And now, not only was she not guaranteed Voldemort's protection, she also had the side fighting against him hurting her too. Hermione's throat clenched.

"I know you're not weak," she said, speaking very carefully. The wrong word spoken could spell disaster. "It was just—I recognized that Stinging spell and saw that you wouldn't be able to remove it on your own; it was charmed that way. Then I saw your hair and I guess I got a bit carried away. I know you could have done it on your own."

Pansy stared at her, breathing heavily, as if she had just run a race. "Fine," she said shortly. "Thank you for your help." She then grabbed her bag and swept away.

Hermione sat down in a seat, staring after her. Pansy Parkinson had always been cruel, vicious, bigoted, and ugly. But now….It wasn't that she had changed over the summer, more that perhaps Hermione had never truly seen her in the first place. She had changed in appearance though, her face maturing beyond pug face, hair falling in waves around blue eyes, more serious than Hermione had ever seen them. Pansy was dealing with the cruelty of the other houses with grace and pride, refusing to tell anyone about the ill treatment and declining to get treatment for her injuries. After a few moments, Hermione realized that she was experiencing an emotion she had never, in her wildest dreams, imagined she would have for Pansy Parkinson:

Respect.

**A/N:** I changed the title because I realized that the old title had nothing to do with the chapter. So now that chapter title's changed, lol. Sadly, it doesn't appear that I will be finishing this before the seventh and final book comes out, and I wonder why I even bother. Perhaps because I love the story so much. Perhaps because a small part of me believes I can finish it. Well, at least I know one thing. It's not for the bundles of reviews I receive for it! Lol, I'm just messing with you guys. Kind of. By the way, has anyone tasted the new Skittles flavor? Carnival, Limited Edition. Trust me, they're really good. Anyway, REVIEW! Lol. Adios!

-CatJetRat


	8. Pansy

**A/N:** I just utterly need to remind myself of the reasons that I ship Harry/Draco, because, after reading "What Will Happen in Book 7?" I had a great difficulty remembering why I love Harry/Draco, but I was reminded when I reread a ship manifesto on LiveJournal communities, ship manifesto / 18097 . html. Spaces so fanfiction will let me post it.

It's brilliant, and reminds me why I love Harry/Draco, and I'm determined to make their relationship difficult, because that is the way it should be. Adios!

-CatJetRat

**Chapter 8**

**Pansy**

**HBP**

**Normal POV**

Mnemosyne urgently whispered her secret password to the gargoyle in front of Dumbledore's office and moved up the stairs.

Her gaze flickered across the stones, taking in every detail she could. A world in which she was not trapped and doomed to torture others still seemed almost impossible at the moment. She quickly opened the large wooden door and entered Dumbledore's office. Mnemosyne froze at the sight that greeted her.

Dumbledore had been leaning his head back against his chair when she entered, his eyes half-closed. When he heard the door open, he jerked awake, bringing up his right hand to adjust his glasses. Her gaze focused on his hand, and she inhaled sharply.

"I see things have changed a bit since I went away," she murmured. "Do enlighten me."

Dumbledore sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes, scrutinizing her. "Did you have a restful holiday?"

At his voice, Mnemosyne gave an involuntary shudder. That same voice had screamed her name over and over again for two months, begging her to stop…to stop….

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I went through the veil," she whispered.

When her eyes opened again, Dumbledore had his wand drawn, uncertainly, though. "Most witches and wizards who go through the veil come back half-mad," he said warily. What happened to them was too horrific for them to speak of, and there are no records of what lies beyond to veil." He rose to his feet, wand still pointing in her direction. "Should I be worried?"

A small laugh escaped her, the first she had uttered in nearly nine months. "No, Dumbledore, I'm not mad. I survived. Barely, but I did." An ironic smile crossed her face. "It was you that saved me."

"What do you mean?" Dumbledore asked, voice still wary yet now slightly curious.

She faltered slightly, but then cleared her throat and managed to recount the basics of what had happened beyond the veil. She left out the specifics of who she tortured and how, but she knew that Dumbledore probably suspected he had been one of those she tortured. "And, in essence, your honesty with me saved me," she said softly. "Because you were honest with me about whom my father is, and the likelihood that I might succumb to the darkness as well, I was able to be honest with myself. I think I was one of the most honest people to ever cross the threshold of the veil, which is, I think, what saved me in the end." A small smile stole across her lips. "I'm actually somewhat glad it happened. Now that I've seen such horror, I know I want nothing to do with it. I'll continue to fight against Voldemort with a new purpose in life. Though where I went wasn't exactly relaxing, it gave me a chance to see the world through new eyes. It…healed me, in a way. I was able to let go of most of my anger, towards myself, towards Voldemort, even a lot of it towards you. However, I still want you to restore Harry's memories."

Dumbledore had listened to what she said in silence, and, until she mentioned restoring Harry's memories, his eyes had actually begun to twinkle towards her, something they rarely did when he saw her. However, at the mention of Harry, his eyes darkened again.

"If it was that simply, Mnemosyne, I would do so. However, erasing you from the picture had a far greater effect than I realized. You see, Ron and Harry, who had formerly been fighting, became friends. Without you there, Harry never knew what Ron did, and as such had no reason to be angry with him. Also, I think Mr. Potter is days away from asking Ms. Ginny Weasley to be his girlfriend."

"Ew!" Mnemosyne exclaimed, in an uncharacteristic display of immaturity. "That's like incest!"

Dumbledore shrugged uncomfortably. "You weren't there to set up Ms. Weasley and Mr. Longbottom. As such, they never fell in love—never realized that they were perfect for each other."

Mnemosyne gave an affected shudder. Ginny and Harry dating was almost as gross as Ginny and Ron dating in her mind.

"The worst affect, unfortunately, was on the young Malfoy boy."

Mnemosyne snapped to attention. "Draco? What's wrong with Draco?"

Dumbledore sighed. "With your guidance, he would have been able to find the strength within himself to defy his parent's expectations and join the Order of the Phoenix. However, because he has no memories of you, any thoughts of choosing a different path seem like a distant dream to him." Dumbledore paused, as if his next words were physically painful to say. "He became a Death Eater."

Mnemosyne's heart stopped dead in her chest. "Noo," she groaned, grabbing the head of the chair she was standing behind for support. "He's just a child! Why on earth would Voldemort—"

"To get to me." Mnemosyne looked up at Dumbledore, a question in her gaze. "Voldemort, I suspect, has assigned Draco Malfoy the task of killing me. Not because he thinks Draco has any chance of succeeding, but to punish Lucius for failing to obtain the prophecy last year, and, I suspect, largely for his own amusement. I think, also, that a small part of him is curious to see how close Draco can come."

"How close has he come?" she asked. Right now she couldn't afford to get emotional. She went into strict information-attaining mode, so that she could decide on the best course of action later.

Dumbledore gave a non-committal shrug. "So far he's tried to send me a cursed necklace which ending up hurting the person he used to send it."

Mnemosyne frowned. "Sounds like his heart isn't really in the job."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said evasively.

Mnemosyne sat in her chair and fell into deep thought. Dumbledore pocketed his wand and sat as well, observing her in silent curiosity, as they both reflected on the failures of their lives.

Several floors below, Harry frantically stuffed a bezoar into the mouth of his best friend, hoping to thwart Draco Malfoy's second, failed attempt to assassinate Dumbledore.

**DH**

Harry's gaze flickered upwards from his Charms textbook. Seamus had taken the seat across from him at the table he was sitting at in the library. "Hey," Seamus grinned. His smile was so blinding Harry almost had look away. "Mind if I sit here?"

"Sure," Harry said, smiling and marking his page, before closing his textbook. He glanced back up at Seamus. "Here to study?"

Seamus shrugged. "Supposedly. Hermione's on one of her rampages. She's freaking out about that test we have coming up in Transfiguration. She snaps at anyone who goes near her. When she nearly blew my ear off for sneezing too loudly, I realized it was time to go."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, I knew she'd be in a bad mood today when I saw a bit of fried egg in her hair. Eating fast is usually a tip-off that she's worried about something. I escaped while all body parts were still working correctly."

Seamus grinned again. "Did you get your teeth whitened?" Harry asked suddenly.

The grin turned into a frown. "No, why do you ask?"

"Nothing," Harry muttered. "I just…never mind."

"No, come on, tell me," Seamus said. "Now I'm curious. What makes you think I got my teeth whitened?"

Harry shrugged, embarrassed for some reason he couldn't quite explain. "Nothing really, it's just that your teeth seem whiter than they usually do."

"Maybe you just never noticed how white they are," Seamus replied, raising his eyebrows. "Maybe you're really seeing them for the first time." Harry got the distinct impression that Seamus was talking about more than his teeth, but what, exactly, he was talking about, Harry didn't know, didn't know if he wanted to know.

"Right," Harry muttered. His gaze flickered down to his books. "So, um, what's up with you?"

Seamus leaned back in his chair, a vision of relaxation, sandy hair falling in his blue eyes. Harry felt strangely diminished in comparison, very aware of his short stature and messy hair. Jealousy. That's what was going on. Harry was jealous of Seamus, jealous that Seamus could turn heads just by walking down a hallway, while Harry turned heads merely because of an unattractive scar on his forehead. Harry yanked down his bangs irritably, annoyed that he had allowed his jealousy to escalate.

"Are you all right?" Seamus asked, concerned, front legs falling back down.

Harry gave a small shrug, and forced a smile to his face, which turned into a pained grimace as Parvati Patil walked by and gave Seamus an appreciative glance.

"Um, I should go," Harry said. He grabbed his bag and shoved his things in it, uncertain why he should be so jealous. He'd never been a jealous person—well, except for perhaps Cedric.

Seamus watched quietly as Harry left the library, and Harry couldn't shake the feeling that Seamus's eyes followed him long after Harry had put several walls between them.

* * *

Hermione rushed out of the common room. Her head felt like it was about to explode with the knowledge she'd been stuffing in her brain for the past several hours. It wasn't like her to put off studying until the last minute, but she couldn't help it. Now she was late for her Head Girl rounds. They were much like prefect rounds, except she needed to double check the hallways around all the Houses. She didn't mind, though, it was a chance to relax and think. 

She was running Human Transfiguration over in her head one more time when she ran headlong into a mass of blonde hair and icy blue Slytherin eyes.

"Bloody hell, Granger," Pansy Parkinson snarled. "Watch where you're going?"

"Pansy?" Hermione said in surprise, getting up and offering her hand. "What are you doing here?"

"In case you've forgotten, Granger, I'm a prefect," Pansy snapped, swatting away the proffered hand. "I was doing my rounds."

"It's a little late for rounds," Hermione replied, raising her eyebrows. "Why didn't you do them sooner?"

"What the hell business is it of yours?" Pansy said, anger clouding her eyes.

"I'm Head Girl," Hermione replied in a steely voice.

Pansy cursed under her breath before saying, "If you must know, I was studying for my Transfiguration exam, you know, the one that's tomorrow. I'm sure you've already got the chapter—hell, the whole book, probably—memorized."

"Why are you so rude?" Hermione asked angrily.

Pansy gritted her teeth. "I've hated you for years—what makes you think that will have changed overnight?"

"We're in a war, and we're on the same side!" Hermione exclaimed. "I would think—"

"We are _not_ on the same side," Pansy retorted. "Just because I haven't branded my loyalty to the Dark Lord on my arm like some of my idiot friends doesn't mean I support you or Potter."

"Why are your friends idiots?" Hermione asked softly.

"Because they decided that a good use of their time would be to torture and kill people!" Pansy exploded. "They thought, 'Hey, this sounds like a good idea,' even after Draco—" she stopped. Tears were glistening in her eyes. She looked half-furious, half-miserable. She lifted her head up to the ceiling to stop the tears from falling. "Even after Draco died." Pansy closed her eyes and a couple of tears dropped from her unwilling eyes.

"Pansy," Hermione said softly, reaching out.

"He was my best friend," Pansy whispered. "How am I supposed to deal with that?"

Hermione didn't know what to say. She was faced with a more human side of Pansy then she had ever seen before. Her fingers touched Pansy's shoulder, and Pansy stiffened, but didn't pull away. Vulnerability encompassed her, a Slytherin Hermione used to think was too hard and cold to ever feel. And now Hermione understood. Pansy thought Draco was dead, died for the cause of the Dark Lord. Pansy didn't support Voldemort, but refused to denounce the memory of her friend. Pansy was stuck.

Hermione's heart melted. Pansy's blue eyes were looking at her in such fear, such confusion. And then…

Then they were kissing. Hermione didn't know how it had happened, but Pansy's lips met hers in crushing desperation and need. She slammed Hermione up against the wall, kissing her frantically, right hand exploring Hermione's hair, left hand caressing her inner thigh. Hermione was lost for breath, returning the kiss Pansy was bestowing upon her with equal need. And it was as if Hermione's fingers had a life of their own, reaching out to unbutton Pansy's shirt to run across silk skin peppered with goose bumps, two hard appendages yielding to her touch. Hermione wanted to lick them, suck them, but she was afraid that if she broke the kiss she would break everything. Nothing mattered in those moments. Not Ron, not Harry, not even the fact that she had thought she was straight. Just Pansy's lips and Pansy's need. Pansy, Pansy, Pansy.

The aforementioned girl kicked Hermione's legs apart and stuck one of her own in between them, picking Hermione up and resting her on her leg. Hermione gave several little gasps, breaking the kiss and whimpering. Pansy began to fiercely move her leg back and forth, resting her forehead against Hermione's as she made Hermione feel pleasure she hadn't even known was possible. Hermione met Pansy's lips again, and this time it was her need which was being fulfilled. Then Pansy threw Hermione to the floor and pulled Hermione's pants and underwear off. Hermione was shaking, half with pleasure and half with fear as Pansy went down on her.

Clearly Pansy was no stranger to the art of going down on a girl. Hermione threw her head back and groaned loudly, clutching her robes in fistfuls. Then the warmth and pleasure was gone but Pansy was kissing her again, oh, she was kissing her, and Pansy pulled her wand out and conjured a two-way strap on. Hermione clutched Pansy's arms in fear, but Pansy kept kissing her and whispering nonsense in her ear about how everything was going to be okay. Then the strap-on was on her and she was gently pushing into Hermione. Tears leaked out of Hermione's eyes as her forehead dotted with sweat, pain and pleasure mixing themselves together as Pansy fucked her. Then there was tearing, and the pain was fading as Pansy kept pushing in and out. But the pleasure, Merlin, what pleasure! Hermione began moving her hips in time to Pansy's thrusts, desperately kneading her breasts and kissing her. But there was something building—_something_, but she wasn't quite sure just what. But it kept going and going and going until Hermione's world exploded in a shower of sparks and oh Merlin, Pansy kept going and Hermione had never felt closer to anyone in her entire life.

Then Pansy came and collapsed on top of her, vanishing the strap-on. Hermione found that she couldn't move her legs, and it felt like someone had just informed her that she had a vagina. It was gaping open, felt like it was bleeding, and her legs stayed apart, Pansy between them. Hermione closed her eyes for an instant, and when she opened them, Pansy was gone, no trace of her, and if Hermione's legs didn't still feel like they'd never work again she might have doubted Pansy had been there at all.

One thing was certain, though: Neither of them would ever be the same again.

**A/N:** Wow. I really didn't plan for that sex scene. By the way, I don't know if these actually exist, but in my mind, a two-way strap-on is just what it sounds like. A normal strap-on except it also fucks the person wearing it. Sorry about the long-ass hiatus. I think I can start updating sooner now, perhaps more after I send in my college applications. Reviews are love! Adios!

-CatJetRat


	9. Letting Go

**A/N: **You can thank the guy who broke my heart and made me feel like I wanted to die for this chapter. Adios!

-CatJetRat

**Chapter 9**

**Letting Go**

**HBP**

**Normal POV**

Breaking the long silence, Mnemosyne finally looked up. "So are you going to tell me what happened to your hand?" she asked softly.

Dumbledore raised his eyes to her face, studying the hard lines which were etched within. Lines which would fade if only she wanted them to. But no. Never.

Dumbledore flexed his fingers. "I put a cursed ring on," he told her. "It had one of Voldemort's Horcruxes in it. I was curious…stupid, really. But I destroyed it."

Mnemosyne's eyes widened. "So it's true? He has seven Horcruxes?"

"I strongly suspect so," Dumbledore sighed. "Which makes destroying him that much more difficult."

Mnemosyne cast eyes away from him, frowning. "How many have you destroyed so far?"

"Well, you already know about the diary, after all, that was what made us suspect that he might have Horcruxes. The ring's gone, so that leaves five."

"Any ideas on what they might be?" Mnemosyne asked.

"I know that Voldemort stole Helga Hufflepuff's cup and Salazar Slytherin's locket from a descendant of Hufflepuff, so I suspect that those two are Horcruxes. I also think that his snake, Nagini, might have been made a Horcrux. After that, he probably sought out something of Ravenclaw's or Gryffindor's to use. What that might have been, I have no idea." He paused.

"That still leaves one Horcrux," Mnemosyne pointed out quietly.

"You already know," Dumbledore said, a pained expression on his face.

"I think I know," she whispered. "Please tell me I'm wrong."

Dumbledore's eyes drifted closed. "I can't."

Tears Mnemosyne had held back finally spilled forth. "Shit," she hissed. "What in Merlin's name are we going to do?"

"You know what we have to do." Dumbledore's eyes snapped open, a blue fire erupted within. "We have no choice."

"You—"

But whatever Mnemosyne was going to say was lost in a pounding on the door. Dumbledore shot her a warning look, and she concealed herself in invisibility.

"Enter," Dumbledore said. Minerva McGonagall came in, a frantic expression on her face.

"Headmaster, Ron Weasley has just been poisoned. His family is on the way. You should come to the infirmary at once."

Dumbledore stood up and swept out of his office without so much as a backward glance. Mnemosyne bit back a groan of annoyance. She settled herself in on a chair and began to speak with the portraits on the wall, trying to learn as much as she could.

By the time Dumbledore returned with Arthur and Molly Weasley, Mnemosyne had learnt of Dumbledore's impending doom, of the fact that Harry was slowly learning about the Horcruxes, and all other tidbits of gossips the portraits felt she should know.

She shrank into the shadows, going into deep contemplation as Dumbledore comforted Ron's parents, and assured them that everything possible would be done to find the culprit.

The Weasleys finally left at around nine to go see their son. Dumbledore jumped at the sound of her soft laughter.

"You're such a liar, Dumbledore," she sneered. "What would Molly and Arthur say if they knew that the boy who tried to kill their son is only floors below, hanging out with his friends?"

"Don't talk about things you don't understand!" Dumbledore snapped.

"'Don't understand?'" she snarled. "If it wasn't for you, Draco and his entire family would be safe. But you were so damned impatient to forget about me that now everyone is worse off! Just because my father made life for everyone terrible, it doesn't mean I had the same effect! I spent all of my life trying to be a good person, trying to help others be happy, and find the best way of being happy. You're so foolish, you couldn't even recognize this!"

"I'm not perfect!" Dumbledore exploded. "You of all people should recognize this! Look at who I fell in love with!"

Mnemosyne sobered instantly. Gellert Grindelwald, Dumbledore's only love. Mass murderer, dark wizard.

"Very well," she said. "I'll grant you that. But—"

Dumbledore laughed harshly. "You'll _grant_ me that? Has anyone ever told you how arrogant you are?"

"You know of my power, Dumbledore," Mnemosyne snapped. "My wisdom—"

"Only fools call themselves wise," Dumbledore snarled. "And you are not so powerful. I heard you tried to convince Lord Voldemort that it was you who protected Harry when he was a baby. Said something about the world being on your side."

Mnemosyne went red. "I was weak," she muttered. "I thought if I could make him believe I was extremely powerful, he might not kill me. And the world does love me," she added resentfully.

"Yes, I know," Dumbledore said mockingly. "The world loves me too."

"And I survived passing through the veil!" she added, almost desperately.

"Quiet!" Dumbledore said, finally fed up. "I'm not denying your power, but there are many who match you and some who exceed you. You must learn humility. If you do not then you will fail. You almost did. Taking Avada Kedavra head on—what were you thinking? It would have been just as easy to Apparate away with Harry!"

Mnemosyne didn't respond. Mostly because she knew he was right, and wasn't willing to admit to being wrong, and party because she just simply could not think of an answer. Dumbledore sighed.

"You expected too much from me. I cannot be there for you constantly. I cannot overlook who your father is, and I cannot overlook the things you have done. Mnemosyne—I thought it would be easier on everyone to forget who you are. To be honest, I was somewhat relieved when I thought you were dead. You've hurt a lot of people. I admit it was a mistake to erase you. But you must understand. I had my reasons."

Mnemosyne swallowed. "I can't change the past," she whispered. "You of all people should know that. But let me be in this future. Please. Let me come back to Harry. Get to know him all over again."

"If you are looking for my permission, I will never grant it," Dumbledore said. "I know though that I cannot force you to do anything. The best thing you can do is help the Order. I'll introduce you as a new ally. You can fight. Forget about Harry. Just let it go."

Mnemosyne looked into his eyes, and was finally able to do just that.

"Okay."

**DH**

_P-_

_Athena. I like it. Thanks for the recommendation. Since she's part Kneazle it really fits, goddess of wisdom and all._

_As for you telling Weasley, what am I going to do, chastise you? It was your choice, and if you decided to trust him there isn't much I can do to change that. I must say though, I find it odd that you trust him simply because he said Voldemort's name. It seems that you are a bit too willing to find an excuse to let go of his past behavior. But again, it's your choice. I just hope your trust wasn't misplaced._

_I'm getting better at cooking. I made beef stroganoff the other night and it turned out really well, then again, I was the only one eating it. _

_I must admit that I regret I won't be at Hogwarts for Halloween. Slytherin always threw mad parties. I heard you Gryffindors get pretty crazy as well. It was always my favorite holiday._

_Life is excruciatingly boring here. I've read everything I have about Horcruxes so far and my next shipment of books doesn't get in for another three days. I wish McGonagall would buy me firewhiskey. I would prefer to be bored and drunk than just bored._

_-D_

It was because of this letter that Harry found himself in Hogsmeade on October 15th, trying to find a place that would sell him a bottle of firewhiskey. He'd already tried and failed twice, but he was about to try the Hog's Head.

The door creaked open, and Harry shuddered. The place was almost entirely empty, though there was a man and woman in the corner muttering to each other. Harry spared them a quick glance, and went to the counter. The old man, who still looked unnervingly familiar after two years, stared at him blankly.

"H-how much for a bottle of firewhiskey?" Harry said, wincing inwardly at his stutter.

The bartender continued to stare at him, and Harry was beginning to think it might be better if he just left, but then the man opened his mouth. "Two galleons," he grunted.

Harry quickly dug in his money bag and placed two galleons on the counter. The bartender took the money and went into the back to retrieve the bottle. Harry glanced at the man and woman. The woman had reddish-brown hair, but her back was to him. The man's face was hidden in shadow, though his hands looked pale and bony. They had both fallen completely silent, and just as Harry was starting to feel slightly uneasy, the bartender returned with a dusty bottle of firewhiskey.

"Here," he said, and thunked it on the counter. Harry grabbed it and rushed out. He'd had enough of feeling nervous for one day.

"And why, exactly, did you feel the need to get him alcohol?" Three hours later, back in the common room, Hermione's icy tone was less than welcome.

Harry shrugged. "He said he wanted it. Besides, think about how horrible it is to be stuck there!"

Hermione glared at him, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "It would be peaceful." Harry rolled his eyes and returned to the letter he was writing.

_M-_

_Glad you like the name. I thought it sounded fitting._

_You may be correct about Ron. Lately I've realized that all the things I formerly thought about him are still true, despite him having said Voldemort. I think he's trustworthy, but I also think we're drifting apart. Lately I don't really know what to say to him. It's hard to let go, though. Hermione and I are getting closer, however, which is a good thing._

_You're welcome to cook for me anytime. I still remember that omelet you made._

_I don't know how great Halloween will be this year. Everyone's kind of on edge around here; no one's really thinking about parties._

_I actually kind of wish I wasn't here. I initially was actually going to look for the Horcruxes this year, but a certain female best friend of mine convinced me that N.E.W.T.s are important, and I should still be preparing to fight Voldemort. _

_I'm sorry you're bored. Hopefully this will help._

_-H_

Harry looked over his letter, slightly embarrassed when he realized that he'd actually opened up to Malfoy a bit. It was true that ever since he'd told Ron a week before about Malfoy, Ron had stayed arrogant and obnoxious, rude and inconsiderate, and frankly, just interested in things Harry didn't find appealing. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hold up a conversation with him, and Harry was frustrated as hell trying to figure out how to stay friends with someone who, half the time, he couldn't remember why he was friends with him.

Harry reread his letter, and sighed. He'd lied about Halloween. From what he'd heard, there was going to be a joint House party in the Room of Requirement (not including the Slytherins), and it was supposed to be the craziest one yet. Still, no way of Malfoy finding that out, and Harry wasn't particularly interested in making Malfoy feel worse than he already probably did.

Harry tied the letter to the bottle of firewhiskey, and cast the charm Malfoy had taught him on it. He called Hermione over and she looked at it. A second later, the letter and the bottle were gone.

Hermione mumbled a quick good night and went upstairs. A frown creased his brow. Hermione had been acting rather strangely for the last week, and oddly skittish. But every time Harry asked her about it, she said something dismissive. Harry felt rather at a loss, but there were other things to worry about.

Like that. Ron walked in, and Harry smiled tensely, a greeting which he hoped would suffice, and Ron might keep on walking…but no, no, he kept coming.

"Hey mate, what's up?" Ron asked cheerfully. Harry shrugged.

"Just studying," he replied, indicating the books on the table, which had fallen in ranking of importance for Malfoy's letter. Silence fell, the silence he had been dreading.

"So…I was thinking I might ask Susan Bones out," Ron said. "You know, the girl with red hair, the one who was in the DA?"

"Really?" Harry said, trying to sound interested.

"Yeah, I figured that maybe making Hermione jealous again was the way to go," Ron said. "You know, let her see what she's missing."

Harry wasn't sure how to respond to this comment, so he grunted and grabbed his potions textbook. Ron sat there for a few more minutes, then muttered a good night, and stumped up the stairs. Harry continued to sit there, fake reading, in case Ron came back down.

"You know," said an amused voice. "It's easier to read when your eyes move."

"Hi, Seamus," Harry grinned. "Sorry, just avoiding something."

Seamus smiled and sank down into the couch next to him. "Let me guess—your "best" friend?"

Harry winced. "Let's not talk about it. Actually, let's not talk about anything important at all. I can barely hear in here." That wasn't actually true, because full though the common room was, it was pretty quiet. Laughter and games had become rare. That was actually one of the reasons that the Halloween party would be so intense. Everyone needed a release.

"Okay, then let's go somewhere else," Seamus suggested. Harry couldn't suppress the smile that came to his face.

"Like where?"

"Places…" Seamus said mysteriously. Harry laughed.

"That's…very descriptive." Harry glanced at his forgotten homework, and shrugged. "What the hell," he said, gathering up his papers and shoving them in his bag, which he then put under the couch for safekeeping. "You lead."

**A/N:** Okay, yeah, that's a shitty thing to do considering how often I update this thing, but I think I'll be updating it more from now on, because honestly, though it's less popular than some of my other stories, it's my personal favorite. "Love Not Forgotten" is okay, but I like this one. I know people think it's a Mary-Sue, but it really isn't. Please review this and recommend it to others if you like it. Adios!

-CatJetRat


	10. Seamus

**A/N:** I'm sad more people don't like this story. It's one of my favorites. I might end up having to completely cut out the parts about Mnemosyne and repost it as just a Harry/Draco fic, because I think she's turning a lot of people off. Thoughts? Enjoy the new chapter. Adios!

-CatJetRat

**Chapter 10**

**Seamus**

**HBP**

**Normal POV**

Mnemosyne heard about Dumbledore's death on accident. She had, as Dumbledore had suggested, been assisting the Order, though mostly anonymously. However, his idea of "help" seemed to mean putting her in the most dangerous situations possible. She was about to leave a Death Eater meeting site, which had been boringly empty, when several Death Eaters Apparated to the scene. A moment later, Lord Voldemort did so too.

"Well?" he said in his cold, high-pitched voice.

One of the Death Eaters stepped forward and threw his cloak back. Severus Snape's face came into view, sallow skin pale, hair greasier than normal. "It is done, my lord," he said respectfully. Only Mnemosyne caught the tremor in his voice.

"By whom?"

Severus hesitated.

Voldemort laughed cruelly. "Do not be coy, Severus. Tell the truth. Who killed Albus Dumbledore?"

Mnemosyne inhaled sharply. Though she had known to expect it, it still hit her like a blow.

"I did," Severus said softly. "I killed him."

The Death Eaters all cheered. "Silence!" Severus snarled. They fell silent almost immediately.

"Why, Severus," Voldemort said with an icy smile. "You command almost the same respect that I do. But I am curious. You were not assigned with that particular task."

"My lord, I can explain," Severus said quickly.

"But I do not want you to explain," Voldemort said coldly. "I want the young Malfoy to explain. Tell me, Draco," he said, now addressing a so far unnoticed smaller figure standing next to Severus, "Why did you not finish him? It was your glory, and, after all, you were the one who managed to fix the Vanishing Cabinet, which I applaud you for. Why did you not take the final glory?"

Draco pushed back his hood with shaky hands. His face was even paler than Severus's, and his eyes were bloodshot. "My lord," he began, and though his hands were shaking, his tone was even. "Dumbledore was behaving in a strange fashion. I worried that he might have tricks up his sleeve that I was unaware of. I thought it best to wait for back up, but when they got there, they were little more than a distraction, as they began to converse with Dumbledore. Then Professor Snape arrived, and killed him first."

Voldemort smiled. "That's almost a convincing lie, Draco. But I know the truth. I don't need to see into your mind to know that you were unable to bring yourself to kill another human being. It doesn't surprise me. You are far too soft for that, and indeed, I have been far too soft with you. Tonight, that ends."

The fear in Draco's eyes nearly broke Mnemosyne's promise to not interfere with the goings on of Death Eaters. But she remained resolute, though she was furious. Voldemort rolled up his sleeves, and Mnemosyne knew what was coming, though she didn't want to.

"_Crucio_," Voldemort cried, and Draco was thrown to the ground by the force of the curse. His screams tore through the night countryside as he endured the Torture Curse for the first time in his life. Mnemosyne closed her eyes and left. She knew that Voldemort wouldn't kill Draco. Just the last part of him that was still a child.

**DH**

"Where are we going?" Harry said, more than a little exasperated. He and Seamus had been walking for more than fifteen minutes, and with no visible end in sight, Harry was starting to grow cranky.

"Just a few more…ah. Here." Seamus stopped suddenly, and Harry collided with him.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, stepping away quickly, suddenly embarrassed.

"It's okay," Seamus said, smiling at him, and Harry's chest constricted in pain again. He was starting to worry that something might be wrong with his heart.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, looking around. They were in an empty corridor. Only one painting was on the wall, and there were no rooms to be seen.

"Shh," Seamus said, pressing a finger to Harry's lips. He really needed to see Madam Pomfrey about that chest issue. Seamus turned to the painting, which contained seven ugly gnomes and a pretty albino lady.

"Queen's apple," Seamus whispered.

"Why would you mention such a horrid thing?" the albino lady demanded, and then the painting melted away to reveal a wooden door.

"Come on," Seamus laughed, and, taking Harry's hand, led him through the door.

There was darkness at first, and then a torch was lit, and the room was bathed in light. Harry's eyes widened as he took in the sight around. He had stepped into paradise. They were in a garden filled with rosebushes and various beautiful, colorful flowers, and an apple tree growing on the edge of a blue, lovely stream. Little fairies slept on leaves and in flowers, or twittered around, laughing and playing. Sunlight filtered down through trees that looked to be hundreds, if not thousands of years old, and there were patches of sunlight on what appeared and proved to be, after Harry sank down upon it, the softest grass in the world.

"I don't understand," Harry whispered. "It's night time, and winter, and we're indoors. Where are we?"

"Think the Room of Requirement," Seamus said, sinking down next to Harry. "It's kind of like that, but rather, it shows the people who enter it their ideal world. This is mine."

"It's incredible," Harry said. "I've never seen a more beautiful place." He laughed softly. "It's full of fairies."

"Yes," Seamus said, and when Harry turned to look at him, his face was suddenly serious. "Yes, it is. Does that bother you?"

Harry frowned slightly. "No. No, it really doesn't. Should it?"

"I would hope not," Seamus grinned. "Otherwise we might have a problem."

"What do you mean?" Harry's mouth went dry suddenly, and for some reason his heart was beating very quickly.

"Do you not know?" Seamus smiled again. "Here. I'll help clear it up for you."

"What—" But Seamus was putting his finger over Harry's mouth again, and Harry couldn't have spoken if he wanted to. Seamus ran a finger down Harry's jaw line and gripped his chin.

"Don't worry so much, Harry," Seamus whispered, and he closed the remaining distance between their lips. At that, Harry's heart exploded within his chest, and he knew he wouldn't be seeing Madam Pomfrey about any heart condition.

Nothing could have prepared him for the kiss he was receiving. No chaste pecks with Cho or eager smacks from Ginny compared to this, this, _exploration_ of his mouth Seamus was conducting gently. Harry didn't know what to do, how to handle what was happening, and, after a moment, began kissing back as if his life depended upon it, terrified that if he stopped for a moment, the dream would end.

Seamus ran his fingers lightly down Harry's arms, raising his hairs as goose bumps erupted along the skin that was touched. After another few moments of kissing, Seamus gently and kindly broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Harry's.

Harry's hands were shaking, and Seamus gently held them within his, keeping Harry grounded for a moment.

"I—don't—" Harry stammered, but Seamus hushed him again.

"I told you, Harry," he said with another brilliant smile. "Don't worry so much."

Then they were kissing again, and Harry was lost in pleasure, and for once, took someone's advice, and stopped worrying so much.

**Summer**

Mnemosyne watched Draco Malfoy be continually tortured and tested for weels before she finally broke. Though she was by no means pleased at Dumbledore's death, it was still his fault that Draco was in this predicament in the first place, and she would not stand to watch someone she loved dearly being tormented for no good reason. At the beginning of August, after a full night of watching him being tortured, she went to him.

He lay curled in his bed, alone and wandless, staring at the wall. She cloaked herself in darkness and sat down beside him. He jerked up almost immediately.

"Who's there?" he asked, voice cracking. It wouldn't be the first time the Dark Lord had tortured him in his sleep.

"Shh, Draco, I'm with the Order of the Phoenix," Mnemosyne whispered. "I've come to offer you sanctuary, if you so wish."

Draco blinked slowly at her, the terror fading from his eyes to be replaced by suspicion. "No. No, I'm faithful to the Dark Lord."

"Don't be an idiot. I see how he tortures you. I'm a spy. Now come with me. I know you don't want to be here, and you don't have to pretend to be loyal to him in front of me. I'm not his bitch." Mnemosyne's patience was fading, and if the stupid boy wouldn't come willingly, she would simply drag him to Grimmauld Place and show him that she was telling the truth.

Draco looked around nervously. "Even if you're telling the truth—which I don't think you are—it doesn't matter. I can't come with you. I've already taken the Dark Mark. It has curses on it you can't even imagine. The Dark Lord would find me, kill everyone I care about in front of me, and torture me to death. I'm starting to get on his good side again. I can't go with you."

"Stupid boy!" Mnemosyne spat. "Do the lives of the innocent people he kills mean anything to you? If you stay here, you will eventually have to do what you could not do to Dumbledore, and it won't be an old man you're required to kill this time, either. He'll make you rape women and murder their children in front of them all in the name of purification. And if you don't he'll kill you without a second thought. Is that the life you want?"

"It's not about what I want!" The look in Draco's eyes went from scared to desperate. "I have to protect my family!"

"Do you remember what Dumbledore said at all? You can't betray the Dark Lord if you're already dead. Come with me. We can de-curse the Dark Mark and make it look like you were murdered by members of the Order of the Phoenix. You'll be a hero to the Death Eaters and an ally to us. You haven't hurt anyone yet. Draco, it's not too late. Please, _please_ come with me."

Draco stared up at Mnemosyne, and, for some strange reason, trusted her. "Okay," he said hoarsely. "Okay. I'll come with you."

"Good boy," Mnemosyne smiled, and wrapped her arms around her old friend, who remembered nothing of her, and took him away into safety.

**DH**

_P-_

_I can't believe you bought me firewhiskey. Don't tell Granger, though. I'm sure she'd disapprove. I do appreciate it, though getting drunk alone isn't as much fun as I thought it would be. There's nothing for me to do that I can regret the next day, no loose women to take advantage of. _

_Athena's growing so quickly. I've been trying to teach her some tricks, but cats are far too clever, opportunistic creatures to do things simply because it makes their masters happy. _

_Nothing new about Horcruxes, sadly, the same old things. Easy to destroy, hard to find, contain half of whatever's left of a wizard's soul, blah, blah, blah. Nothing useful, and honestly, I can't say that I think there's anything left to discover about them. I think the best thing you can do now is to just start looking for the Horcruxes themselves. _

_Happy Halloween. Hope the rest of your term is going well._

_-D_

_M-_

_Too late. Hermione was with me when I was wrapping up the bottle of firewhiskey, and you're right. She wasn't terribly happy, but I didn't really care too much. I'm sorry that you didn't like getting drunk alone though. It makes sense. I probably wouldn't have too much fun getting drunk alone either. And you're right, half the fun is in the stuff you regret the next day, though you're alone with the thing about the loose women._

_I'm glad to hear Athena's doing well. Yeah, the annoying thing about cats is that, unlike dogs, if they don't see a treat in your hand, they'll just stare at you like you're an idiot if you ask them to sit._

_I think you're probably right about the Horcruxes, but as long as I'm stuck in school I can't exactly go looking for them, and honestly, I'm not entirely sure where I would even start._

_Hope you're doing okay in isolation. I'm not sure if you know what a television is, but I would recommend asking Professor McGonagall for one. They can be quite comforting. Computers are also pretty cool, as are video games, though that might be stretching it a bit with Muggle items._

_Happy Halloween to you too._

_-H_

Harry finished writing and rolled up the letter, tossing it to Hermione, who caught it expertly and unrolled it, looking at its contents. It vanished from her hands.

"You know, I wonder what happens if the letter gets to Malfoy when his hands are full," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Or if he's in the shower?"

Harry rolled his eyes and changed the subject. "So I guess you're going with Ron to the Halloween party?"

"Aren't we all going together?" Hermione said absently, looking back down at her Transfiguration essay.

"Well, yeah," Harry said awkwardly. "But isn't it kind of a date thing?"

Hermione sighed and rubbed her eyelids. "I guess."

"So are you going with him?"

"He asked me," Hermione said, in an unresponsive tone. "But I don't…I'm not really sure if I want to go with him. Harry…." She stopped, and looked down at her hands.

Harry frowned. "What's wrong, Hermione?"

She sighed again. "Nothing. I just don't feel that way about Ron."

Harry grimaced. "Did you tell him that?"

"No, I said I'd think about it, but I think he just assumes that I'm playing hard to get," Hermione said in annoyance. She shook her head. "Whatever. Are you going with someone?"

Harry paused and reflected upon a conversation he had had earlier that day.

**********************

**Flashback**

**********************

"So the Halloween party's coming up," Harry said. He and Seamus were sitting side by side on the grounds during lunch, watching the first years play hide-and-seek.

"Yeah," Seamus said, still watching the first years.

"It's kind of a date thing, isn't it?"

Seamus looked up at Harry and grinned. "Do you want it to be a date thing, Harry?"

"I-I don't know," Harry stammered. "I just—I'm new to this whole thing."

"Being gay?" Seamus asked empathetically.

"Dating," Harry muttered. "And I'm not even sure that I'm gay. I might be bi."

Seamus snorted. "Okay, Harry."

"And whether I am or not, I don't know if I'm ready for the whole school to know that I'm dating a…a guy," Harry finished.

"You brought it up," Seamus said, turning his gaze back to the first years. "I wasn't going to press the matter."

"You weren't?" Harry said hopefully.

Seamus laughed. "Merlin, no. You're still accepting who you are for yourself. I wasn't expecting you to be ready for the whole school, not to mention the rest of the world, to start accepting you as well."

"I don't know if the world will ever accept me for who I am," Harry sighed.

"Their loss," Seamus smiled.

Harry stared at him, fear swelling in his stomach, before he said, "I want to go with you. If you want to go with me. I mean, do you?"

Seamus's smile widened. "I would love to go with you to the Halloween party.'

*********************

**End Flashback**

*********************

Harry grinned. "Yes, yes I am."

"Who, then?" Hermione said, looking interested suddenly.

"You'll just have to wait and see."

**A/N:** I will finish this fic if it takes me ten years to do it! Lol. Hopefully not that long. I hope you guys are enjoying this. I know I am. But do tell me your thoughts about reposting this and doing something other than my uber-awesome OC. 'Cause I like her. But whatever. I know she bugs people. And you peeps best review! Adios!

-CatJetRat


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